Finding Eden
by Ceara Einin
Summary: How do you fight a demon you don't even know? Miranda isn't sure, and that seems to be her problem. Flung into a strange world at war in the midst of her search for answers and peace, she finds herself struggling to survive and more confused than ever. But she's running out of time, and the prince knows far more than she'd like...
1. Prologue

**A new story! One of many I've written, but this is my first story outside of the TDWAP trilogy that I'm actually posting. A fair warning, this story is quite a bit darker than my other ones, so don't expect light and fluffy here. I also understand that this won't be everyone's cup of tea, but I do expect respect. In other words, I welcome constructive criticism, but if you don't have something constructive or positive to say, I'd ask you to keep the thought to yourself. Please and thank you in advance!**

**As far as updating goes, I do have a lot of this written already, so updates will come steadily. That being said, I am leaving some time in between to edit, so I won't be adding a new chapter every day. If for some reason it's been a month since I've updated this, or something like that, do feel free to bug me about it. Most likely, I'll be ready to post it and I'll just have forgotten to actually do it. (Chances of that are slim, however).**

**And here's the ever-necessary disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC, the rest is the creation of C.S. Lewis's fantastic imagination. **

**Enough business! I'm looking forward to hearing what you guys think of this, so please do feel free to drop a review. Similarly, if you really want the story to go in a particular direction or want to see a certain scene written in, I'll do my best to find a way to work it in if I can. Some things are set, but I'm always open to suggestions.**

**And without further ado, here is the prologue! You can expect Chapter 1 to be up within two weeks. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Prologue**

Running. It's the first thing she knows.

She's running now, so fast she can barely breathe; like she ran as a kid, when the worst thing after her was her cousin pretending to be the Boogeyman. But this time, there's a real monster on her trail. And he's getting closer.

She runs faster, faster than she ever thought she could, because she's desperate and she has to get away and he tried to take a piece of her, and if she doesn't keep running he'll take it with a knife to her throat.

Did she leave her phone in the house? She's done for without a link to civilization, to someone who can help her. Her coat is in the house, and her purse isn't hanging from her shoulder. She has nothing but her own two legs and her determination to get away.

She doesn't even know where she is.

But she doesn't care; she just knows she has to get away somewhere, to anywhere on earth but here.

If she stops, he'll win. He'll take her, and she won't be able to stop him.

Her heart pounds in her ears, an erratic thumping that drowns out everything else. Vaguely, she hears his shouts, his curses, but they slip past her as if she's made of smoke. She can't even hear his footsteps chasing after her. Just her heart.

_Thump, thump. Thu-thump thump._

Her lungs burn and her legs cramp as she pushes on. Her heart threatens to beat itself out of her chest. The thought that her heart could give out gets through the fog in her head. If she slows down, he'll take it. And if she keeps going like this, she'll collapse and he'll catch her anyway.

She understands what it is to feel hopeless now.

He's coming; she can hear him now. He's close, and getting closer every second. She isn't strong enough to keep going, and now she's going to pay the price for her weakness.

She knows she only has seconds to decide how she wants to lose: fighting or giving up. When the scream tears from her throat, she realizes that somehow, some way, she chose the former.

A hand grabs her hair, yanks her backwards hard towards the pavement. A dull crack sounds in her ears, and for a moment it's the only sound in her world. Pain explodes across the back of her skull, blinding pain that covers her world in black spots.

It's over. There's nothing to be done.

All at once, she goes limp. Didn't he tell her it'd hurt less if she didn't resist? Or is that her own mind trying to keep her alive?

A tongue swipes up her neck as ugly hands roam her. She almost recoils from the slimy feel of everything. He was full of shit; this is far from pleasurable.

"There's a good girl," he croons against the shell of her ear. "I always did like the chase."

Her trembling starts up all over again, escalating until her head is banging on the asphalt from the force of her shakes. She jostles her head, as if a concussion can make the words disappear forever. Already her stomach is churning, and she can taste the bitter, stale vomit at the back of her throat.

The jangle of a belt buckle snaps her into painful reality again. Without meaning to, she starts trying to scramble away, limbs flailing blindly, nails clawing air. Cold hands, clammy hands, grasp her wrists and hold her down until she sags in their grip again. She can't think, can't process anything that happens then. Flashes of a body over her dart through her brain, but nothing sticks. If he commands her to do anything, she's not aware of obeying or disobeying.

But one thing registers, when something presses at the back of her throat: she was told to fight for her first time. And right now, he was vulnerable.

A moment passes. She finds a corner of her mind that isn't completely shut down. She knows what she has to do. And she bites down. Hard.

The next thing she's aware of is the sickening, metallic taste of blood. It coats her teeth, drips out of the sides of her mouth, trickles down her throat in a warm flood of bitterness. She's choking on the stuff, but her mouth is no longer being invaded. In one motion, she turns on her side, coughs out the crimson evidence, and pulls herself to her feet.

Running. She's always running.

* * *

**Review!**


	2. Arc 1: Fears Unknown

**Wow, I wasn't expecting such a positive response to just the prologue! Thank you to Dark-Enough-Conspiracy-Theory, rosegold1996, and Banana for leaving a review, you guys made my day!**

**You can expect the next chapter soon :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Psst, Miranda!"

She starts awake as soon as she feels a hand on her arm. Her heart rate spikes, and she isn't sure why. This is her friend Leila; there's no reason to be jumpy.

"Sorry, I can't seem to stay awake," she mumbles, offering an apologetic smile that somehow seems insincere after a gaping yawn.

"I'm fine with you sleeping through Chem, but you know how Sra. Mendez is. Sleeping equals participation deduction equals un grado muy mal. Capisce?"

"Leila, that was the worst Spanglish I've ever heard. And you do realize capisce is Italian, right?"

Leila waves a careless hand and grins.

"I won't need Spanish in art school, will I?"

"One can only hope. You're worse at it than me, and that's an accomplishment in and of itself," Miranda whispers back.

"Ladies!"

She jumps in her seat and has her second round of heart palpitations at the sharp reprimand of the teacher.

"Surely your conversation must be quite important if you feel the need to have it in the middle of my lecture. Do share with the rest of us, por favor."

"Lo siento, señora," Miranda replies before Leila can say something smart and get them in even bigger trouble. "I was just asking her about the midterm exam. I've lost my study guide."

"Such a shame."

Miranda tries not to comment that Sra. Mendez really doesn't think it's quite a shame at all, actually.

"Save such conversations for after class." Surely satisfied that she's embarrassed them enough, the good señora returns to the chalkboard to continue the lesson on verb conjugation.

Leila and Miranda trade amused smiles before returning to their tedious note-taking, counting down the minutes until lunch in the margins.

* * *

"God, one more day of that crazy woman and I quit."

"Ever the charmer, aren't you?" Miranda returns.

"Seriously! I'm not reading a chapter of Don Quixote in a language other than English!" Leila whines through a mouthful of hot dog.

"Art school still likes its applicants to have passed high school, right?"

"I'm passing everything! Including Spanish!"

"And you'll need to study if you want to keep that up," Miranda says.

Leila instantly stills like she's been shocked. Miranda wonders what she said, but then she looks at her hands. She's gone three shades paler, and it suddenly feels so very cold.

"Did they turn on the AC in the middle of winter?" She tries laughing it off, and Leila smiles hesitantly. "Seriously, I want my coat. And a Snuggie."

"Good idea," is all Leila can seem to come up with.

Miranda knows something's up; Leila's moods don't change this quickly. Asking seems like a bad idea, however. Leila is avoiding her curious glance with all the subtlety of a trumpeting elephant, and when Leila can't even bring herself to make some offhand joke about it, it's bad and she doesn't want to talk about it.

But Miranda can still ask if she's okay and hope for the best.

"Are you okay?"

Leila waves the question off, and Miranda tries not to be disappointed.

"Yeah, I got hypothermia for a moment. Seriously, it's like they enjoy turning the heating system off or something."

"The joys of a budget."

Both of them pretend not to notice that the rest of lunch passes with little more than tense silence and pathetic attempts at small talk they both can see through.

* * *

The familiar click of the key turning in the front door sets Miranda's teeth on edge. When she notices how tense she's become, her muscles practically locked into paralysis, she purposely forces herself to relax. What's been with her today? First getting spooked by Leila's hand on her arm, and now freezing up at the sound of a key turning the tumblers of the front door lock.

Shaking her head at herself, she slips inside and closes the door with a resounding bang that instantly soothes her. Loud noises have always soothed her, for some odd reason.

In the same vein, she tosses her car keys onto the dining room table to further announce her arrival to her mother.

"How was school?" Her mother's voice rings out of the bedroom, sounding distracted and decidedly not interested.

Miranda knows what to say. "It was fine."

"Good."

And back her mother goes to furiously working on her research. Having a college professor as a parent has its perks, but an abundance of quality family time is not one of them. Still, Miranda relaxes at the familiarity.

"Do you need any help grading midterms?"

"That would be wonderful!"

Just as Miranda dumps her bookbag on the floor of the kitchen, the phone rings.

"Get that, would you?"

"It's Dad. You sure?"

"You answer it," comes the cryptic reply.

Miranda shrugs and picks up the phone. She's heard her parents fight a little more than usual lately; now she's just waiting for the current storm to pass.

"Hey Dad. You on the way back from work?"

"Just left the office. Tell your mother not to worry about dinner tonight. We're eating out."

"Fight was that bad, huh?"

"Nothing to worry about, kiddo. Stress at work is getting to both of us."

She accepts this explanation, of course. This time of year is always a little more hectic.

"I'll tell her. Drive safe."

"Always do."

She hands up then. The click of the "end call" button makes unpleasant goose-bumps pop up on the back of her neck, leaving her once again confused at her body's odd reactions to random things today.

"Mom, Dad's taking us to dinner. He'll be home in an hour," Miranda says as she walks into the storm of loose papers, wall calendars, post-it notes, and the occasional bag of chips that passes as her mother's office. A messy workplace is a happy workplace, her mother always said. Really, Miranda's sure that's just a convenient excuse to put off cleaning the place for another week until the junk gets knee-deep.

"Oh? How nice of him."

Miranda knows that tone; it's the tone her mother gets when she's feeling sorry for whatever things she yelled at him last night.

"You go get ready, I'll start on the grading," Miranda says with a knowing purse of her lips.

"Just the short answers, dear!" Her mother flits out of the office like an overeager bird leaving the nest for the first time.

"Yes, Mom."

Miranda settles down, hopping over a few toppling stacks of books as she makes her way to the plush computer chair that is easily her mother's favorite thing of the entire house. As she grabs the first stack of papers, one of the books slides off the top of the stack and falls open.

Before she even realizes what's happening, Miranda catapults herself backward in the chair and into the wall, knocking down a bulletin board on the way. Her heart's leapt into her throat, and the next thing she knows she's staring wide-eyed at the book with its fluttering pages like it's a snake poised to strike. She only realizes she's wheezing and hyperventilating when her head starts to spin.

"Honey, is everything alright?" comes her mother's worried voice.

"I'm fine, I just tripped on a stack of books," she calls back.

Why is her voice shaking?

The sound of rattling papers draws her attention. Why are her hands shaking? She's shaking like a leaf, and she can't seem to stop.

"Shit," she mumbles. The midterms she so carefully grabbed are spilling out of her hand and into the sea of papers below.

"The hell is wrong with me?" she whispers to the tests slipping through her fingers. Unsurprisingly, they don't answer, and she's left feeling confused and more than a little scared.

She tries to gather up the tests, but her hands can't seem to grip anything properly. Even her knees are knocking together. So she's left with no choice but to sit tight in the chair and breathe as calmly and deeply as she can. She's been feeling off all day, but this is getting ridiculous.

"Christ, I might be the one who needs a damn shrink," she grumbles. Her parents go to a relationship counselor once a month, and now she's wondering if she shouldn't make an appointment with the office. They have quite the sparkling reputation for helping troubled teens. Of course, most of those are depression cases, but still.

Several long, tense minutes pass as she sits there with her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees. She curls up in the chair Indian-style, and that helps a little. The sound of the shower water running helps too, and slowly she finds that her heart is slowing and her hands aren't shaking quite so badly.

At last, she thinks she's calm enough to stand up and get out of there.

"Hey Mom, I just remembered I have a test later this week, I'll do the grading after dinner." She's relieved that her voice doesn't shake as she tells the small lie, though her legs still feel like pogo sticks.

"No problem, hon!"

In truth, she doesn't have a test until next week, but she just might start studying now anyway. She practically lectured Leila on the importance of studying anyway, she may as well live up to her talk.

As she grabs her backpack and scrambles upstairs to her room, she pretends not to notice how her head spins at the creak of that step three from the top.

* * *

The restaurant is much nicer than the usual post-fight places; the air hangs heavy with the smells of seared filet mignon, boiled lobster tail, and glasses of wine. It's savory and a little bitter and sour and mouth-watering all at once.

"Just how big was the fight, Dad?" Miranda murmurs to him as the waitress leads them to a table under a chandelier that looks like its made of crystal and stained glass.

"It built up; I had to make reservations this time."

"Oh." What else does a girl say to that?

"You really didn't have to do all this, James," her mother whispers to him, her hand curled gracefully in his.

"Can't a man treat his two girls?" he replies, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.

Miranda looks away and tries not to blush, but it's easier thought than done when her father's giving her mother the twitterpated look.

"Good evening, I'm Eric and I'll be your server tonight."

Grateful for somewhere else to focus, Miranda looks up at the waiter with barely disguised relief.

No sooner has she glanced at his face than she feels sick to her stomach, and she doesn't know why. A flash of blonde hair appears in her mind, paralyzing her.

She blinks once, and it doesn't go away. Eric's mouth opens and traces words about the menu for tonight, but she hears something else entirely.

'There's a good girl.'

She's frozen, and she doesn't know why. Her mouth is dry and it feels like some ghostly hand is trying to choke her. Her heart's incessant thump-thumping drowns out everything else. Can she really not breathe, or is she just going crazy?

A menu appears in front of her, and it takes all the control she has not to jump a foot in the air. For a split second, it looks like the hand releasing the menu is clamped around her wrist, but then the image vanishes and she's clambering up from her seat and asking where the restroom is please.

If her parents are concerned, she doesn't notice; she's too focused on getting away and forcing herself to breathe because the restaurant is quite nice and it wouldn't do to faint in the middle of it. But she can't breathe and everything is spinning so fast...

She stumbles through the first door she sees, the sign barely registering. It did say "Ladies," didn't it? It doesn't matter; there are stalls, nice ones, with marble-patterned sides and doors that reach to the floor and far above her head. The toilet even has a lid, one she lowers with trembling fingers. Her chest is too tight, like she's being squeezed from the inside out and the outside in.

Her head falls into her hands, her elbows slip from her knees, and she sits there, folded in half, trying to breathe and succeeding only in raggedly gulping the occasional bit of oxygen. A rapid banging registers in her ears through the fog that's settled over her senses, a fog that turns everything grey and unimportant and sharpens every detail at the exact same moment. She only realizes that the banging is the toilet lid rattling against the seat when her body shakes all the harder. Did someone come in?

The very thought of a door opening is enough to send her into a near-frenzy again. It's all the worse because she still doesn't know what on earth is the matter with her or why she heard those strange words from a stranger's mouth.

She has to pull it together. Tonight is for her mother, so her parents can make up after one of their fights. She can't ruin that for them, turn it all on her.

Just the thought of their worry causes bile to rise in her throat. She has to force the retch down, but it burns the whole way.

The gentle bang of a door closing jolts her to awareness, momentarily.

"Honey? Are you alright?" comes her mother's worried voice. Her rapid exit from the table must have been frantic after all.

"I'm fine. Just got my period," she lies, because that's a lot easier than the truth, especially when she doesn't know exactly what the truth even is.

"Do you need a pad?"

"Nope, I'm good." She knows her voice is shaking, but she also knows her mother will chalk it up to the monstrous hormones that usually accompany her 'times of the month.'

"Alright, I just wanted to make sure. We ordered an appetizer, so come on out when you're feeling better."

"Will do," she calls. Is it her imagination making the thud of the closing door echo around the stall?

She needs to calm down, and fast; she knows that much. Without another thought, she whips out her phone and dials the number of her parents' therapist. To her surprise, the good doctor answers on the second ring.

"Dr. Ethel speaking."

"Hi, it's Miranda. My parents come to see you once a month?"

"Miranda O'Donahue?"

"Yeah. Listen, I've been feeling weird all day, like really jumpy, and I don't know what to do and I need to calm down, so do you know a line or someone I can call?" The words come out in a rush, like she's ashamed of them. She is, if she stops and thinks on it for just a second.

"Are you hurt in any way?"

"No, I'm okay, I think. I've just been scared by specific noises today, and I think I just hallucinated."

Dr. Ethel gives her a number that she explains only as a help line that will talk her through some calming exercises, tells Miranda to take care, and hangs up.

"How perfectly brusque," she comments to the radio silence. Still, she dials the number Dr. Ethel said and waits.

"Hello, S.A.F.E. Helpline."

"Hi," she answers uncertainly. "I was told to call you by a psychologist. Is that okay?"

"Of course, dear. What's the matter?" The voice on the other end is much warmer than Dr. Ethel's was, though to be fair it was dinnertime and Miranda really couldn't blame anyone for being annoyed at receiving a call at this hour.

"I'm panicking and I don't know why." The words come out before she's even processed them. Maybe it's because she's already processed that whoever this is can help, but it all spills out from there. The jumpiness, the terror at mundane things like a door closing or books shifting or a waiter with blonde hair.

"Alright, miss, I need you to calm down, okay?"

"What do you mean? I don't know how!" She tries not to yell, she really does, but it comes out much louder than she intended anyway.

"Take slow breaths, but not too deep. Breathe in…." Miranda does. "And hold…" Miranda does that too, even though she's not sure why breathing is the relaxation technique of choice. "And release."

The room's still spinning, but it's at least going a little slower now. The person on the other end has her do it again, and again, until she actually feel calm enough to hold a decent conversation.

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Miranda briefly thinks that she sounds so tiny and breakable with that one question, but she's at a nice restaurant and it doesn't matter how she gets better, just that she does.

"What you described sounds like a flashback, dear. Now that sort of thing is usually associated with some sort of posttraumatic stress disorder. Do you have a history that would put you at risk for that?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't know. How can I figure that one out?"

"Look for a counselor in the area who specializes in PTSD or anxiety, and see if you can't schedule an appointment."

"You want me to see a shrink?" Miranda isn't against the idea, per say, it's just that her parents are the ones who are supposed to need the counseling, not her. She's always been healthy as a whistle. Or a horse. Not that she's overly concerned with getting cultural maxims exactly right at the moment.

"If something happened to you and you've forgotten it, a counselor could help bring it out into the open and, more importantly, help you in dealing with it."

"How could I forget something traumatic? Don't our brains work to remember that stuff, not forget it?"

"Repressed memories can occur under periods of intense stress, such as the terror a traumatic experience can cause."

"Oh. I thought that was all Freud's theory."

"Well, the important thing is helping yourself and making sure you are able to function healthily. I can give you the names and numbers of some therapists in your area, if you're comfortable with that."

Miranda nods before remembering that the nice lady can't actually see her. "That would be great, thank you."

The lady gets her the numbers of several offices, and Miranda says goodbye after thanking her profusely.

As soon as she hangs up the phone, the dizzy feeling returns. But she breathes like the lady taught her and reminds herself that a wonderful dinner is waiting. She finally exits the stall with a pounding head but almost-steady legs. She cleans her face of the evidence of her little breakdown and practically marches back to the table.

"There you are, kiddo! We were getting worried. Did ya fall in?"

Her father's familiar joking helps ground her, and she silently thanks him.

"Almost, but I got my balance at the last second. Sorry to disappoint."

"All plumbing leads to the ocean, isn't that what Gill said?"

"You really watch too much Finding Nemo, honey," her mother croons back, rubbing his arm in a way that makes Miranda avert her gaze and clear her throat.

"I love you guys, but sometimes you two are downright disgusting," she mumbles, making sure none of the other restaurant-goers can hear.

"What ever do you mean? It's only his arm," her mother replies, the picture of all innocence.

Miranda pretends to ignore this and instead takes one of the rolls from the bread basket.

"I see you already finished the appetizer." She smiles because she's more amused than annoyed.

"You were in there a while," her father chimes defensively.

"It doesn't matter; I prefer bread and butter much more."

Miranda flinches involuntarily as she takes her knife and cuts the roll in half. Her hand starts shaking, but she manages to steady it before her parents notice. Her head spins a little when she spreads the delicately whipped butter on the first half, so she breathes slow and long like the nice lady taught her. She can survive a simple dinner out.

Can't she?

* * *

Miranda does survive, with only a few minor instances of shaking hands and a trembling voice. But her mother notices, and Miranda has to fight a grimace as the three of them slip inside the house, pulling their coats tight around themselves as the chilly night air chases them into the living room.

"You look pale, Miranda. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. You know how my time of the month is."

Her mother is concerned, more than usual. Miranda always gets some sympathy for her 'lady time,' as her mother calls it, simply because hers are always relatively miserable, even as those times go, but her mom seems to get that there's something more this time.

'At least she actually believes that's part of it, though,' Miranda thinks dryly. She's never used the period excuse before, and it feels foreign on her tongue.

"Well, just make sure you stay hydrated and take some ibuprofen."

"I will. Now I'm gonna stay down here and let you and Dad have some alone time where I can't hear."

To her credit, her mom blushes a little, but still with a devious little twinkle in her eye.

"Save that sparkle for Dad. I have a very important date with the new _Hobbit_ movie."

"Thranduil is a hottie."

"Ew Mom, he's mean and old!" Miranda laughs as her mother disappears up the stairs. She pretends that the flinch at the sound of the creaking step was just a muscle twitch.

She waits until she's sure her parents are both upstairs together before taking out her cell phone and copying down the numbers she saved in a note onto a piece of paper. She'll call every one in the morning, but for tonight she needs to research them, figure out which one might be a good fit.

"Damn good thing I have a steady income for this," she mumbles, slightly amused that she only just now appreciates her job answering the phone at the hotel down the street. She's not sure why she doesn't want her parents to know about this, but she doesn't. Maybe she's ashamed, or maybe it's her independent streak showing up at an inopportune time; whatever it is, she's alright with it. Maybe this is one her parents don't need to know about.

* * *

The infernal shrieking of her alarm clock startles her clean out of her cocoon of blankets and pillows. Miranda rubs her backside and shoulder where they hit the floor and tries not to think about how she's never fallen out of bed from her alarm clock before.

She doesn't waste any time in dialing the number for the counselor she decided on last night. A woman in her thirties with a wealth of experience in trauma, stress, and anxiety, if the website bio was accurate.

The receptionist's voice is much peppier than she'd have thought anyone could be in the early hours of the morning. It makes scheduling a visit easier than she thought it would be. She'll be going after school; she can skip math club just this once. It's important, but she'll have to come up with a plausible excuse by lunchtime, when she'll be able to let the other club members know.

Oddly enough, this time she's alright with lying to them. It's just a little fib.

She refuses to think about how much she hates fibbing.

* * *

After school, she drives to the counseling office with a guilty sort of determination that churns her stomach and makes goose-bumps pop up on her arms.

The drive is right through town, almost a straight shot. She'll be going through a rough patch, but she's driven through there before and been just fine.

When a gold car cuts her off, she's surprised to find that she doesn't swear at it for cutting her off, but because it's making her vision go fuzzy and her palms go sweaty.

"Dammit," she hisses. Unless she gets a grip, she'll have to pull over and then she'll be late for her appointment and then they'll be angry and she'll probably never be able to go back again and…and…and she's not sure what else, but it's sure to be awful, isn't it?

She breathes long and slow, but her heart still beats desperately against her ribs. Glancing back in her rearview mirror turns out to be a bad idea; it shows her a white car that's old and ratty with chipping paint, that's too close to her bumper for comfort. How close does another car have to be for it to be considered tailgating? She can't remember for the world; all she can think is that what if she's being followed, and what back roads she can wind through at fifty miles-per-hour to lose them.

"There is no one following you," she tells herself sternly. Maybe if she says it strongly enough, she'll force herself to believe it and she can get to her appointment in one piece.

She doesn't even notice that her foot is clamped on the accelerator until the car starts to swerve, and she can't seem to find the brake to slow it down.

A crash echoes in her ears before everything fades away to black.

* * *

**Banana - Thanks for all the detailed feedback, it was really great to get your thoughts! Sorry you weren't big on the 'and's, that's what sounded right as I was writing. Again, I really appreciate hearing your thoughts! **

**Review!**


	3. Arc 1: What an Odd Dream

**I continue to be flattered by the positive feedback! You guys are amazing and you make my day. :) Thank you so much to rosegold1996, TheParanoidGraveRobber, and Banana for reviewing the previous chapter! And reviews I can't reply to via PM I'll reply to at the end of the chapter. And of course, thank you to anyone who's favorited or followed or just read this little story. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

She comes to with an ache that seems to be everywhere and soft grass tickling her bare arms. Wait…grass?

Miranda bolts upright, head spinning like a top; at least, that's what it feels like. Vomit pushes at the back of her throat, and she has to throw herself to the side. Her heaving only makes her feel worse as she expels every last kernel of lunch from her stomach.

"What the…?" The question dangles haphazardly in the air. The fresh, crisp, earthy air. Her car vent air freshener smells nothing like this; it's cinnamon, and she can't smell cinnamon or any spice of the sort.

And since when were their trees in her car? And grass so green it hurts her eyes to look at? And did her roof expand, because it had to if the grey clouds above her head are real. And the moon! There was no perfectly round, perfectly bright moon when she left school.

A rustle has her scrambling to her feet, hands balled into unsure fists. She tries to scan the area, but her eyes won't focus.

"Shh!"

"Who's there?" Her voice rings out the instant she hears the shushing, coming out with much more confidence than she feels.

More rustling, and a few whispers she can't make out. It occurs to her to be curious, that something hiding in bushes so short can't be bigger than a child. All the same, it could be a mischievous child, and she doesn't fancy playing tag or dodging a ball.

She stands still and waits, tries to calm herself enough to breathe normally. Her patience, to her surprise, is rewarded. And she's expecting almost anything - except what comes out of the thicket of bushes.

A badger?

"Hello there. Who might you be?"

Her head shakes itself several times before she realizes what she's doing. She really must be hallucinating now, because there is no grass in her car and badgers can't talk.

"Sorry? I don't speak badger?" she mumbles, for lack of anything else to say.

"Not the sharpest sword in the armory, is she?"

And since when are people around three feet tall with beards almost to the ground?

"I'm not much for swords, honestly." Words are just falling out of her mouth at this point, and she can't be held too terribly responsible for what she says as she tries to process this strange scene, tries to will it away.

"Wait wait wait. How long have you been here?"

Is the badger really talking? Or is she actually in the hospital and under the influence of some very interesting pain medication?

"I don't know, I just woke up. Literally."

Metal scraping metal suddenly sounds in her ears, and she can't help but cover her ears and double over. The skidding car tires and rancid smell of rubber burning fills her nose and makes her want to vomit.

'There's a good girl,' the foreign voice croons into her ear the same instant she falls to her knees.

An image flashes before her eyes, one she's sure she's never seen, but one that has her scrambling away.

"Where am I?" The question comes out ragged and hoarse, but all Miranda can focus on is making the images and screaming tires go away. None of it is real, that's what she has to keep telling herself.

"You're in Narnia," answers the badger, looking more concerned than she'd like.

Somehow, this grounds her. The world stops spinning quite so violently, and the voice telling her that she's a good girl fades away.

"Narnia?" she repeats. The name feels smooth and pure on her tongue. Safe, if she had to put it in one single word.

"Newcomer, eh? Well who are you then?" The short little man with the black beard seems marginally less hostile than before. Well, he's not eying her like he'll slit her throat at least.

"I'm…I'm Miranda." She grins, because for some reason introducing herself to these strangers is so very refreshing. "I'm not from here."

"That much is obvious," guffaws the man.

"I'm Trufflehunter," says the badger (the badger is actually talking?). "And this grumpy dwarf is Nikabrik."

"Dwarf?" Dwarves were fairy tales, weren't they?

"Yes, a dwarf," Nikabrik tells her with a roll of his dark eyes.

Well, the badger – Trufflehunter – has one thing right: Nikabrik _is_ a little grumpy.

"Sorry," she stutters. Really, she's at something of a loss. What does one say to a dwarf or a badger?

"Well no use in standing around shivering. Come on then." Trufflehunter waddles off and Nikabrik follows, grumbling and arguing under his breath.

The two exchange a few words Miranda can't make out, and she suddenly doesn't want to go with them at all. They are strangers, after all, even if they seem nice and they're mythical creatures.

It takes them a few moments to notice that she hasn't followed. Trufflehunter tries beckoning to her again, Nikabrik crosses his arms over his chest, and she stays right where she is.

"I'm good, thanks. I can manage on my own."

"Good luck with that," Nikabrik says with sarcasm that hangs heavy in the air.

"We're perfectly harmless, I assure you. And you really should not stay out here."

"Why's that?" she asks evenly.

"The soldiers, for one-"

"One of which we've already adopted, apparently," Nikabrik cuts in.

Trufflehunter shoots the dwarf a scathing look if ever Miranda saw one. Unfortunately, her amusement isn't enough to calm the fear that shoots through her at the mention of a solider. A soldier, where they want her to stay? She's even less inclined to go with them than before. A soldier likely means a strange man, a man she doesn't know who can easily subdue her.

"Please forgive Nikabrik, he's…well…"

Miranda smiles a little and fills in, despite her anxiety. "Grumpy?"

"Yes, grumpy, that's how I put it!"

"Now that we've opened a boarding house, how do you expect me to be?"

"Taking in two people in need hardly qualifies our abode as a boarding house," sniffs the badger.

"I'd rather just try to strike out on my own," Miranda finally says, breaking the little argument between the two.

"My dear, if you want to survive the night, I'd recommend against that. Telmarine soldiers won't take kindly to a solitary woman on her own in the woods. They're quite the unpleasant sort."

"You can say that again," Nikabrik seconds.

"But being in the same abode as one is just fine." She tries not to cross her arms, because that was hostile enough and she probably should not get on Trufflehunter and Nikabrik's bad sides. After all, she's on her own someplace strange (though, admittedly, it's more likely that this whole thing is a figment of pain medications or anesthesia) and she needs to stay on people's good sides as much as she can.

"He's currently unconscious, courtesy of Nikabrik here," Trufflehunter explains.

After a moment, she trudges after them reluctantly. She probably is better off in an 'abode,' as Trufflehunter calls it, than on her own in a forest. She's never even watched Survivor.

She makes a note to stay off the dwarf's really bad side.

She hums her half-interest, half-caution, and follows them until they stop facing a tree. What's so special about one tree out of the hundreds in here?

"That's cool," she mumbles to herself when Trufflehunter pushes on the bark and a hidden door swings open.

She has to bend over, almost to her hands and knees, to get in the door, but it's worth it; the tree home is cozy, with a ceiling decorated in swirls of wood that's high enough for her to stand tall.

"This is where you live?" she asks the friendlier badger.

"It's not much, but it's home," he answers with a smile.

"It's wonderful," she replies. It is; warm, and homey and rustic, with a faint smell of meat stew of some sort hanging in the air.

"The boy has the bed in there," here Trufflehunter points to a room up the stairs, past the fireplace. "But there's another room over here." He starts to gesture at another open door on the other side of the little home, but Miranda sees Nikabrik's indignation and his mouth opening to form a complaint, so she shakes her head.

"Actually, can I sleep by the fire?" Trufflehunter starts to protest, but she hushes him. "I like it better by a fire. It's cozy." In truth? It's also much easier to get away if she feels like it. Less ways for her to be trapped.

"Nikabrik, help the girl find some blankets to make her comfortable. I'm going to get some soup for our poor guest you had the decency to knock out."

The dwarf makes a point of ignoring the badger and Miranda both, opting instead for tearing a piece of bread off the loaf sitting on the table.

"This bread is so stale," he grunts.

She can't blame him there; the tear sounded dry and unappetizing, to say the least.

"Then we'll be having soup," responds the badger from what Miranda guesses to be the kitchen. "And the boy should be coming around soon."

"Yeah? Well I don't think I hit him hard enough."

"Not his biggest fan, are you?" Miranda can't help but mumble.

"No, I'm not," Nikabrik replies with a sneer.

"Nikabrik, he's just a boy."

"He's a Telmarine, not some lost puppy! You said you were gonna get rid of him!"

Miranda shrinks away from him without even realizing she's doing it.

"No, I said I'd take care of him."

Another voice rings in her head, the same sickening croon from before.

'I'll take care of you,' it whispers. Cold fear pierces her veins and all she can hear is that voice and the sound of her breathing. Was it always so ragged?

Vaguely, the noise of the badger and the dwarf quarrelling yet again registers, but it sounds like she's listening to it through molasses. It's barely even background noise.

A cold and clammy hand brushes the side of her cheek. She first thinks to smack it away, but she's paralyzed and she isn't sure why. Is any of this real? The lady on the phone said something about trauma and stress, didn't she? Was that what this was?

She can't think, all she knows is that she has to get out of here right now because _he's_ here and she doesn't know who he is or how or why she just has to_ go_. Just as she pushes herself up onto shaky feet, the clang of metal on metal rings through her ears and jolts her back to reality.

And reality currently means Nikabrik swinging a blade at a strange boy who's holding a fire poker like a sword and Trufflehunter frantically trying to talk them down.

"I told you we should have killed him when we had the chance," growls the hostile dwarf, pointing his sword very deliberately at the boy's chest.

"You know why we can't!" yells the badger, pointing an accusing finger at his testy companion.

"If we're taking a vote," says the boy, "I'm with him."

Miranda cracks a small grin. She has to admire the dry wit under pressure. Then his eyes dart over to her and she swallows the amusement. This is a soldier, and soldier means violence, doesn't it? That's how Trufflehunter and Nikabrik made it sound.

That's when she realizes. She could slip away, right now, and they'd probably never notice.

She takes stock of the situation, which now involves Nikabrik lunging angrily at the boy again. Here's her chance. She carefully slides her chair back, making sure her head remains at the same height, and has just started to scoot toward the door when Trufflehunter's voice cuts through the tense air.

"Enough Nikabrik! Or do I have to sit on your head again?"

Miranda inches again, and some more, and then a little more while Trufflehunter turns to chastising the boy for (apparently) making him spill the soup.

She's halfway there, already.

"And you!"

She almost jumps out of her skin at the badger's yell.

"Don't you sneak away before dinner!"

She looks back at him like a child caught putting her hand in the cookie jar and skulks back to her seat with as bright a smile as she can manage.

"You're helpless out there, and I will not be responsible for the death of a Daughter of Eve."

Apparently satisfied with his reprimands to each and every one of them, he returns to the kitchen and retrieves two bowls of soup, and then two more.

"There you go," he says as he sets a bowl down in front of Miranda. "Still hot," he adds as he puts the other in front of the boy

Miranda thanks him with a nod and an unsure smile as Nikabrik opens his disagreeable mouth once more.

"Since when did we open a boarding house for Telmarine soldiers?"

"I am not a solider!" cries the boy, standing up and puffing his chest out enough that Miranda almost comments on it. She would, if he wasn't so tall, especially compared to her sitting figure, even though he's across the room.

"I am Prince Caspian, the Tenth."

He's royalty? Miranda's sure of two things: she really needs the history and such of this place if she's stuck here on pain meds, and she's really glad she didn't say the smart remark that was dancing on the tip of her tongue.

"What are you doing here?" Nikabrik seems considerably less hostile, a miracle in and of itself.

"Running away," replies the boy, his proud gaze turning sad and heavy. He looks at the floor as he moves to replace the fire poker. Miranda softens. She knows the feeling of running away. She's not sure how, exactly, but it strikes a chord with her.

"My uncle has always wanted my throne," Prince Caspian continues, staring into the fire as his accent deepens and his voice carries even more sadness. "I suppose…"

Miranda studies his back, his posture, out of curiosity and a strange feeling of kinship.

"…I-I have only lived this long because he did not have an heir of his own."

An uncomfortable, almost penitent silence stretches over the room. Miranda uses it to withdraw. She doesn't even know this Prince Caspian; no need to get overly involved before he even knows her name.

"Well. That changes things," says Trufflehunter, quiet and respectful and sorrowful for the prince.

"Yeah. 'Least we don't have to kill you ourselves," finishes the dwarf, settling back in his chair and looking smug as all hell.

But the prince seems to take this to heart. He turns back around, his face a mask of determination, and tells the dwarf that he's right. Miranda knows better than to believe that he really wants to die. She understands the pain in his eyes that he tries so hard to hide.

"Where are you going?" cries the badger as Prince Caspian reaches over for his things and prepares to leave.

"My uncle won't stop until I'm dead."

"Which is why you're not going anywhere."

Three surprised faces turn to regard her. She's not even entirely sure why she said it, just that it needed to be said because letting someone go on a suicide mission, even in a dream, even if it's a boy she just met, is wrong.

"The young lady is right. You can't leave."

Miranda is immensely grateful to Trufflehunter for taking the attention off of her and her idealistic mouth. But the badger has a different reason, another argument to back him up.

He takes the white horn from the table that Miranda didn't even notice before now and holds it out to the prince.

"Don't you know what this is?"

The badger's paws hold the intricately carved horn like it's something sacred. A religious object, then? Miranda isn't sure.

Prince Caspian just stares, maybe because he's a prince and unused to not knowing things. Or because he's just willing to hear the badger out; maybe he was secretly, silently hoping someone would try to stop him.

Trufflehunter sighs and gestures to the bowl of soup still steaming on the edge of the table closest to the prince.

"Sit. I'll tell you over dinner."

For a moment, it looks like he'll refuse and continue fastening his armor. Miranda's eyes don't leave him, though she knows it won't do any good to stare him down. But maybe she's wrong, because he glances over at her and pauses. Maybe he respects her earlier statement, or maybe she looks stern enough that she backs up Trufflehunter, or maybe she's a nicer face to look at than Nikabrik, or maybe he sees a slightly kindred spirit in her. Whatever the reason, he nods once, replaces his things where they were, and sits down at the table in front of the soup. Miranda hides her smile when his knees bump the table just a little.

"Let's begin with introductions," Trufflehunter says as soon as Prince Caspian is seated. "I'm Trufflehunter."

Prince Caspian dips his head in what Miranda can only guess is a respectful, acknowledging sort of gesture. The badger turns to Nikabrik, who sulks none too subtly and firmly keeps his mouth closed.

"And this is Nikabrik," Trufflehunter supplies at the awkward silence. Another dip of the head.

And then Trufflehunter and the prince look at her. She tries not to squirm under the kind gazes that feel like scrutiny.

"Miranda," she says with a dry throat. "I'm…new around here."

A final dip of the prince's head, though his eyes meet hers for a brief second before he straightens.

"Prince Caspian," he says to finish the round. "But you knew that."

Trufflehunter chuckles just a little, and then they all proceed with the most awkward dinner Miranda's ever attended in her life. Nikabrik does nothing but sulk the entire time, with only a few snide remarks to offer from time to time, Trufflehunter explains the horn (Queen Susan's horn, apparently) and how it can summon the "Kings and Queens of Old, " Prince Caspian listens attentively and asks questions in all the right places. And Miranda? She sits there as quietly as she can, sips the soup, and wonders at her vivid imagination. A thought or two about when she'll wake up occurs to her too, because this seems like an awful long dream, even for painkillers.

When everyone's finished, Trufflehunter collects the bowls and gently refuses Miranda's offer to help him clean up. "You're a guest," is all the explanation he offers as he takes her bowl with the rest and goes to the kitchen, leaving her with a grumpy dwarf to her left and a slightly uncomfortable-looking prince to her right.

"You're new here?"

She's startled when the prince addresses her, and it takes her a minute to gather up an answer.

"Yes, I'm from…Earth?" she offers. "The United States of America?"

She's not surprised in the least when the names spark nothing but confusion.

"Not from around here," she finishes with a lame flap of her hand.

"You could say that again," Nikabrik cuts in, that everlasting sneer still on his face pulling his lips away from his teeth.

Okay, she gets the need to be nice to him because she's just a guest, but for heaven's sake, she's had it.

"Christ, who shoved a stick up your ass?" she mutters, half-hoping he won't hear and half-hoping he will.

The dwarf splutters and then glowers, and the prince? A glance over at him shows her that he's trying with all his might not to grin, and he's failing the battle. A tiny snort echoes from behind his lips, and it's so contagious Miranda has to swallow a smile of her own.

Meanwhile, Nikabrik has found his tongue and is enthusiastically berating her. Her only response is to sink back into her chair and cross her arms in an almost perfect imitation of his earlier poses.

"What's all that racket?"

At Trufflehunter's warning question, Nikabrik quiets his voice, but seems a little too put-out to actually stop.

"Everything's alright, I just stirred up Grumpy here," Miranda calls, taking immense pleasure (too much, she's sure) at Nikabrik's icy glare that promises some sort of retribution.

"You know, Miranda, I think that nickname might suit him better than anything I've tried to come up with."

"We might as well use it, then. It really does have the most interesting effect."

"Fine by me, dear girl," Trufflehunter returns with a clear smile in his voice.

"Looks like you just earned yourself a new nickname," Miranda tells Nikabrik with all the stomach-churning sweetness she can muster.

"To the devil Tash with you lot. I'm going to bed," the dwarf says, slamming his hands on the table as he stands and goes to his room. The slam of the door makes Miranda grin in earnest. It's just a dream, this, so why not have a little fun?

But now she's alone with the prince at the table, with nothing under the sun to talk about. She's fairly sure he has no interest in discussing how he came to be here, and she's sure she has no interest in explaining how she got here.

The awkward silence grows, as apparently neither of them knows what to say.

"How did you arrive here?"

His question breaks the silence, and Miranda tries not to grit her teeth in annoyance. The question she didn't want to be asked, and here it is.

"A mix of a car crash and painkillers would be my best guess. You?" If he asked her, she can ask him, right?

"A horse and a fallen tree at eye level."

The answer she expected to be serious turns out to be…well, she's not sure, but she likes it more than the alternative.

"And where is the horse?"

"Far away from here; I ran into the tree, and Destrier kept going." There's a hint of a smile in his voice, even if his face doesn't really reflect it too well. It puts her a little more at ease.

"Destrier? That's an interesting name for a horse."

"I named him when I was just a boy."

"You're still kind of a boy." Those words, she'd like to take back. Even if it's just a dream, insulting a prince wasn't something she wanted to do.

"And you're kind of a girl," he returns.

"Are you mocking me?" she asks indignantly, even though she's amused and a little more at ease.

"Were you mocking me?"

Are his eyes twinkling, or is it her imagination?

"I was just stating a fact. You can't be older than seventeen."

"You look to be the same age."

"I am."

"Then how am I a boy?"

He's clearly playing with her now, and she's surprisingly happy to go along.

"Because you're not a full adult."

"And neither are you."

"Never said I was."

"Perhaps."

They end up staring each other down with telltale smiles. But when she realizes how close their heads are, she pulls back. She almost forgot that she doesn't like being too physically close to people, especially people she's just met.

"You two really ought to get to bed," Trufflehunter says as he waddles back in from the kitchen, paws still wet from the dishwater.

Miranda immediately moves to the blankets sitting in a pile on the floor where Nikabrik dumped them, but the prince looks a bit lost.

"Don't just sit there, to bed with you!" Trufflehunter points Prince Caspian in the direction of the room he woke up in, the room that she's assuming to be his.

The prince looks like he'll argue, but he eventually goes where Trufflehunter is pointing without an argument. When Trufflehunter is serious, he gets his way.

"We'll be getting up rather early, I'm afraid. Prince Caspian is bent on finding the other Narnians."

That's right, she remembers some conversation about that at dinner.

She tells him that it's fine and wonders silently why she's going with them to the Narnians when there's no real reason for her to.

"Good night then." Trufflehunter leaves her then, assembling another pile of blankets across the room.

So much for her brilliant idea of sneaking out in the middle of the night. She tries not to feel disappointed, and to her surprise, she doesn't have to try that hard. They're not bad, even Nikabrik. She'll just think of him as Grumpy from _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ and she'll get along with him well enough. And who knows, maybe there will be six more dwarves with the other Narnians the prince is so bent on finding.

She arranges her pile of blankets to her liking, with high sides working as a sort of cocoon that makes her feel a little safer in this strange place. And with that, Miranda curls up and tries to get some sleep.

* * *

**Banana - That makes me so proud of myself, seriously. Excuse me, I gotta go dance around happily...okay dance done. Good point on the scantrons, I went back in and fixed that. Regarding the school scene, I went back and forth on that because there wasn't a lot going on, but in the end I thought it necessary to show that snapshot of Miranda's life. Thanks for leaving your thoughts! **

**Review!**


	4. Arc 1: A Lesson in Manners

**On to the next chapter! This was, oddly, one of the more difficult ones to edit. It just didn't seem to come out quite right, so hopefully it's better now! **

**Thank you to sarahwood for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

She's not that surprised when she can't nod off for the life of her. Trufflehunter's soft snores echo from across the room, so she sits up and stretches. She can't sneak out because the door is creaky and there was a moon up so the light would spill in and probably wake that badger, but she can get up and move around, can't she?

She opts to explore the little house. She won't be here after tomorrow, but for tonight it'll ease her mind to know her surroundings, maybe enough that she'll be able to get some rest.

It's dark, but her vision adjusted almost as soon as she couldn't sleep and just stared at the ceiling. She purposely avoids the creaky floorboard in the doorway as she slips into the kitchen. Pots, pans, wooden bowls, a bin with vegetables. Nothing that surprises her about a kitchen. The familiarity relaxes her.

She runs her hands over the smooth countertop, also made of wood. It must be old or sanded down a thousand times, to be this smooth. She's fairly sure they don't have things like wood finishing in Narnia.

She braces both hands on the counter and uses the odd position to stretch her back. A bad idea.

A gust of hot, smelly breath hits the back of her neck as a ghostly hand grips her hip.

She spins away from the feeling as a picture of a man with blonde curls and a cruel smile flashes in her mind's eye. Spinning around shows her that no, he's not in here with her, but she can't stop spinning because she's sure he is. Who is he? She doesn't know, and she doesn't want to know, and she has to know.

"Flashbacks?" she whispers to herself. That's what the nice lady on the phone called them, wasn't it?

Something happened, but she isn't sure what, and she hopes she never remembers and that she could stop remembering because it must not have been good and if she forgets, she can be normal, right?

She sinks to the floor and puts her head in between her knees. She just wants to go home. Yes, that's it. She wants to go home, and she's confused because this dream is going on forever. A small whisper of a sound interrupts her thoughts. Springing up, she pads on silent feet to the doorway of the kitchen.

Prince Caspian, putting his armor on as quietly as he can. She's not surprised. She's also spectacularly annoyed. Does he have a death wish?

More importantly, why does she care?

In spite of herself, she tiptoes out of the kitchen and perches on the table, silent as a cat, making sure his back is to her the whole time.

He finishes with the chest thing that looks like a vest and starts to buckle on his sword. She waits patiently. Sword buckled, he turns to grab the cloak. He's sideways to her now, and still hasn't noticed her silently critical form scrutinizing him from the table.

He throws the cloak around his shoulders, turns just enough. She fights a triumphant guffaw as he starts and stumbles backward off the two steps just behind him. The clatter of his sword as it hits the ground at the same time as his backside should wake Trufflehunter.

It may be dark, but she can see his glare at plain as day as Trufflehunter snorts, mumbles, and moves in his sleep. And now she really is annoyed. How did the commotion not wake the perceptive badger? Strictly speaking, she could wake him herself, but having this prince do it on accident would have been so much more amusing.

Prince Caspian gets to his feet and brushes the dust from his rear, alternating between staring at his shoes and glaring at her.

"You missed a spot," she says as he stills.

"And you should not be up at this hour."

"Yes Daddy." She smirks a little at the annoyance on his face. "And on the same note, neither should you."

"I can't stay here-"

"But you can at least wait until morning and give Trufflehunter the courtesy of a goodbye and a thank you for his hospitality. Oh, and maybe a thank you for saving your life somewhere in there too."

She knows she's won before he even says anything; she can see the spark of guilt hiding in his eye. Her arms cross as she basks in her victory. A prince, listening to her? It's a nice pat to her ego.

"I…"

"-can wait," she finishes for him, trying her very best to keep the smugness from her voice. She doesn't need to rub it in, after all.

She glances over at Trufflehunter, now tossing and turning in his sleep.

"And if I were you, I'd put all that stuff back before Trufflehunter wakes up and roasts you worse than I will."

"I can't stay here and do nothing," he tries to protest.

A part of her understands. The rest is still annoyed that he (unwittingly, but still) interrupted her thoughts, troubled as they were.

"I think you can understand," he continues to appeal in whispers she can barely hear.

"I can, and I do. But I still can't let you leave. It's bad manners."

"And you're so concerned with manners?"

She frowns to show her annoyance. "You don't get to question me, royal blood or not."

To his credit, Prince Caspian looks penitent. But he's still determined. Studying her, trying to find a weakness, something he can exploit to get her to let him go. She can feel it in the way he looks at her. And she knows she's right with how he steps toward her: purposeful. Not the walk of a surrendering boy.

It sparks another memory. And it's at the worst possible time.

She grits her teeth against the panic setting in as her mind makes her see the prince's hair changing from black to blond, from long and slightly wavy to long and quite curly. His eyes, from dark brown orbs that are innocent enough to ones of piercing blue that promises all the ways he can hurt her. Her heart threatens to burst from her chest as she fights the instinct to lash out and run away.

'He's just a lost prince,' she reminds herself, so she won't take her nails and rake them down his face that's constantly inching closer to hers, or so it seems.

'That doesn't make him safe,' her mind whispers back.

She's shaking before she even realizes she feels cold.

Her gaze drops to the table, because she's afraid he'll read the turmoil in her eyes, see what she sees and take advantage of her weakness in the moment.

"Are you alright?"

For a second, the question brings her back to the present. She risks a glance up to see that he's stopped his advance and is now regarding her cautiously.

"I'm fine," she rasps out. She's not sure whether she hates him for noticing something was wrong or hates herself for thinking he was someone else.

He squints a little as he continues to stare at her. It reminds her of another time someone squinted at her, when the blond-haired demon looked like a snake before he pounced.

A warm hand touches her shoulder, soft as a feather, but she doesn't realize it's his hand before she's clawed at it and scrambled away.

The wood of the table is rough under her hands. Is that a splinter in her palm? She fiercely reminds herself that it doesn't matter. She doesn't know if it's Prince Caspian there across the room or the person she's been seeing for the past few days.

Her body is coiled, fiercely wound and ready to fight or flee or both, as she looks up at him and tries to apologize. The words won't come, and she's stuck staring at him and trying not to bolt out the door.

"You're not alright, Miranda."

No, she's not. But she can still hate him for saying it out loud, can't she?

"Go to bed," is her reply. It comes out fragile, hanging in the air like glass waiting to be broken.

"I can't stay here," he repeats from before. He stays where he is, but his body leans forward a little, asking her to please understand and keep quiet and let him leave without waking Trufflehunter.

"Wake Trufflehunter and ask him."

She scoots off the table then, to the side away from him. The distance comforts her, even though a flash of pain and screaming unsettles her as her feet land on the floor.

"I can't stop you if you want to leave." With that, she returns to her pile of blankets and burrows deep. It feels like if she burrows under enough layers, it'll erase everything her mind is trying to show her.

She listens for the footsteps that will go by her and cross to the door. She waits and waits until she actually gets sleepy. As she finally nods off, she hears the steps she was waiting for. But they move away from her, back toward stairs.

* * *

A low beeping registers in her ears as she slowly opens her eyes. She starts to move her hand to rub her eyes, but a painful tug sharpens her awareness. Glancing down, she sees a needle there, hooked up to several IV drips.

"Hi honey."

Miranda blinks the rest of the sleep from her eyes as the face of her mother comes into focus.

"Mom?"

Her mother smoothes her hair from her forehead and smiles a watery smile with red eyes that suggest she's been crying recently.

"You're okay, Shells. They just had to put you on some pain medication."

"What happened?"

"You were in a car accident. What were you doing on that side of town after school?"

"I had an errand I wanted to run," Miranda says. She knows she'll be in trouble, but she isn't ready to tell them the exact errand it was.

"What kind of errand, honey?" The disapproval is evident in her mother's voice.

She lies, because she doesn't think she can tell the truth this time.

"Dad's birthday is soon, isn't it? I just saw something online and thought I could just pick it up in store and save on shipping."

Her mother sighs as she pats Miranda's arm.

"Next time we can go together, alright?"

Miranda agrees happily, though it does occur to her that getting to the therapist's will be a bit more difficult for a while.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she says to pacify her.

"You just worry about getting better."

Miranda takes stock of herself. Her middle hurts a lot, and so does her leg. A glance shows her that her entire torso, from under her shoulders to her hips, is wrapped in gauze, and her leg is up in a fancy cast. Her right wrist is in a splint too, but she's guessing that the pain meds are pretty powerful so she won't be feeling that injury for a while yet.

"I'm a mess," she observes uselessly, feeling a little silly for the whole thing. She wets her chapped lips and asks where her dad is.

"He's back at the house getting some sleep. He was here all last night."

"How long have I been out?"

"A day or so. We've been taking turns watching over you."

"But you both have jobs and-"

"We have leave," her mother answers firmly.

Miranda leans into her hand as it continues smoothing her hair, playing with the unruly strands.

"Oh, and mom? Can you ask the doctor about dream patterns for whatever meds I'm on?"

"She said you can expect some vivid dreams while the medications last, but they want to switch you to a different one in a few days, once the surgery cuts heal up."

"Surgery, huh?" Miranda can't help but grin. She'd always boasted about how she'd never broken a bone or had any surgery.

"Sorry, honey," laughs her mother, ruffling her hair and consequently putting more tangles in it that she proceeds to work out with patient fingers.

Miranda relaxes into the bed and doesn't fight the drowsiness as it washes over her, even though she just woke up and it's so good to see her mom. She'll still be there when she wakes up.

* * *

A gentle paw tugging the blankets back wakes her. She bolts upright, breathing heavily from the surprise, before she recognizes Trufflehunter and relaxes. Well, until she realizes that she's back in dreamland Narnia.

"We should be going soon," he says.

Miranda nods and stretches the kinks from her back left from sleeping curled into as little a ball as she could manage. It feels real, right now. But what use is there in wondering, really? After a few days, she'll be off the meds and Narnia will be little more than a memory. That surely doesn't bother her, does it? She quickly decides to think on that later as a certain dwarf shuffles out of the room over.

"Where's that Telmarine prince?" grumbles a bleary-eyed Nikabrik.

"Still sleeping, I assume. He had quite the night."

'Oh he did,' Miranda thinks. Much more than he bargained for, she's sure.

Trufflehunter bustles and gets breakfast on the table, a simple affair of fruit that is just a little past ripe and bread that's stale but stomachable.

"Miranda, would you get the prince up while I finish?" Trufflehunter asks.

She gets the evil idea to ask for pot lids, but the ones she saw aren't metal and hence won't make enough noise to scare him like she wants to, so she pads obediently into the room.

Her annoyance when she's greeted with a perfectly made bed knows no bounds.

'Ungrateful son of a…' she lets her thoughts trail off because his mother probably isn't so bad.

She walks back out to the eating area with a scowl on her face.

"He flew the coop."

The badger tips his head in confusion, so she rephrases with an impatient wave of her hand.

"He left already."

"Perfect, he's no longer our problem!" Nikabrik's grin looks like it could split his face in two, and it makes Miranda want to throw a piece of the fruit at him. The prince is still a human being, a seemingly decent one at that.

"Unfortunately for you, Nikabrik, this means breakfast will be on the road. Get your things together, everyone."

"How far is it to the Narnians?" Miranda asks over the quiet din of the badger clearing dishes and tossing a piece of fruit and bread to each of them.

"Less than a full day's walk, quite close."

"Here, let me help."

The badger has her put away the unnecessary food while he puts the dishes away.

"Come now, Nikabrik! He has a head start!"

The dwarf grumbles some sarcastic reply, but does as his friend says.

The three of them are out the door inside five minutes.

"He can't have gone far," Trufflehunter reasons as he hurries them along.

They rush along until they can hear twigs crunching ahead.

Trufflehunter puts a paw to his lips, telling them to be quiet. They tiptoe carefully, staying hidden in bushes and behind trees. Miranda almost tells him that they're all doing a terrible job of being quiet in this underbrush and the whole idea is silly, but she holds her tongue out of respect and nothing more.

The prince's dark cloak comes into view as he walks along, casual as he pleases.

Trufflehunter and Nikabrik inch closer, hiding behind tree trunks rather close to him. Prince Caspian stops, and this is when the two choose to move closer.

A grin tugs at Miranda's mouth as Prince Caspian turns around with a dry "I can hear you."

She, for one, walks up to the tree closest to him and leans against it nonchalantly. Trufflehunter and Nikabrik, on the other hand, peek out from their hiding places guiltily before stepping out.

"I just think we should wait for the King and Queens," Trufflehunter says.

Prince Caspian stares at the three of them for a moment before turning back around and continuing as if nothing happened.

"Fine, go then! See if the others will be as understanding!" shouts the agitated badger. Miranda doesn't blame him; if she saved someone's life and they left without so much as a goodbye or thank you, she'd be a little testy too. She refrains from chiming in her support of the badger's idea as Nikabrik walks toward the stubborn prince.

"Well maybe I'll go with you," he says. "I'd like to see you explain things to the minotaurs."

"Minotaurs?" the prince says exactly as Miranda thinks the word. "They're real?"

"And _very_ bed-tempered," chimes in Trufflehunter, who has apparently regained his cool.

"Not to mention big," continues Nikabrik.

"_Huge_," amends Trufflehunter.

Miranda bites her lip on a chuckle. Their attempts at intimidating Prince Caspian don't seem to be working; he looks more curious than scared.

"What about centaurs? Do they still exist?" asks the prince as he falls into step behind Trufflehunter and Nikabrik.

Miranda trails along behind the three of them, wondering if she could slip away somehow to explore this world her mind has dreamed up. It is quite a vivid dream, after all.

"Well the centaurs will probably fight on your side. But there's no telling what the others will do," answers Trufflehunter with a wag of his finger.

"What about Aslan?"

Trufflehunter and Nikabrik stop in their tracks at that. Miranda refrains from asking who Aslan is, though curiosity tugs at her.

"How do you know so much about us?" Nikabrik asks none too kindly.

"Stories." Prince Caspian shrugs as if it's not a big deal, but anyone can see that to the two Narnians in front of him, it is.

"Wait a minute, your father told you stories about Narnia?" Trufflehunter sounds perplexed, and Miranda is reminded once again how badly she needs a history lesson of Narnia.

"No, my professor."

Miranda looks at the prince as his voice shakes, taking on the same heaviness it had when he told them about his uncle last night. She's trying to think of something to say to diffuse the tension when the prince hardens and walks past the two creatures staring at him.

"Listen I am sorry. These are not the kinds of questions you should be asking," he says as he all but stomps past.

Miranda makes a mental note of this sore spot as a subject to avoid at all costs.

Trufflehunter has an entirely different reaction; he starts sniffing the air rather loudly.

"What is it?" asks Nikabrik, looking the most sincere Miranda's seen him yet. Is that worry lining his brow?

"Does His Highness need a bath so badly?" she mutters without thinking.

"Probably." Her and the dwarf share the first amused smile of the morning.

"Human," Trufflehunter says.

"Him?" Nikabrik gestures to Prince Caspian with a smirk.

"No, _them_."

Just then, shouting sounds from the direction they came from. The four of them look back to see a horde of soldiers advancing, crossbows at the ready.

"There they are!" one of them shouts, spurring the entire group to run at them.

"Run!"

They follow Prince Caspian's command without a second thought.

'There you are.'

No, not now, not now. Miranda shakes her head as she runs, trying to ignore the voice in her ear, the whisper of stale breath against the shell of it.

She has to run.

The thought surges through her and has her bolting faster than she ever thought possible. She can hear him behind her, even as the thuds of arrows burying themselves into tree trunks by her head make her want to swerve away. But if she swerves, she'll give up speed, and she has to get away.

The feeling is all too familiar. She remembers this, running so fast her head swims and her lungs scream for air and her heart drowns out everything else.

A cry of pain jolts her from her frenzy, and she skids to a stop, whirling around to see Trufflehunter down with an arrow buried in his leg.

She's turned on a dime and sprinting toward him before Prince Caspian even finishes whatever he's saying.

"Go, I'll take him!" he shouts to her as he comes up beside her.

"Like hell!" She keeps up with him the few strides it takes to get to the wounded badger, who presses Queen Susan's horn into his hands and tells him to take it and go.

"You take the damn horn, I'll take the badger!" Miranda hollers as Trufflehunter presses the white thing into the prince's hands. No sooner is it transferred than Miranda scoops up the badger as carefully as she can, and even then he can't help a yelp of pain.

"I had it!" Prince Caspian yells as he comes up next to her.

"You'd have taken too long!"

Whatever retort he had in store is cut off by the unmanly screech of a soldier behind them.

Miranda tries to glance over her shoulder, but Trufflehunter is in the way and if she jostles him anymore he'll be in even more pain.

"Get them out of here," Prince Caspian says with a shove.

She passes Trufflehunter to Nikabrik so she can question his judgment call face on.

"You're picking now to play hero?"

"I trained with them; I can hold them off. Go!" He points back to Nikabrik, who's struggling with Trufflehunter a little.

She has to help them, but something in her isn't sitting right at the thought of letting him stand here like a sitting duck. Even if it's a dream and he'll probably be back and good as new the next time she's asleep, she doesn't like it. But what choice does she have? What help could she really be?

"Catch up when you can," she finally says. He might appreciate her obedience, but she's over with Nikabrik helping Trufflehunter before she can tell either way.

"Come on." She picks up Trufflehunter again and tells Nikabrik to keep up, and then they're running and leaving the prince with the hero complex behind.

They only get a few yards before Nikabrik tugs on her pants and tells her they're safe now.

"Are you mental?" she starts to ask, but when she looks up again, she sees the centaurs. Standing tall, majestic, there down the hill. "Oh," is the only thing she can muster at the sight.

She's wondering if she should introduce herself when a small war cry sounds behind her. Too small for one of those burly soldiers, she's sure. But she isn't prepared for the all too amusing sight of a certain Prince Caspian sprawled on his back with a mouse pointing a needle-like sword at his face. And oh, the look on his face! Surprise and fear and disbelief all rolled into one.

And is the mouse yelling at him?

Yes, the mouse is yelling at the prince, and said prince is waving his hands like he's trying to pacify the creature firmly planted on his chest.

"Which is why I might live longer if I choose not to cross blades with you, noble mouse," Prince Caspian replies to something the mouse said.

Miranda smiles into her free hand and tries her hardest not to giggle. If she can find a stuffed mouse here in Narnia, she'll have to remember to prank him with it somehow.

"I said I would not fight you." The mouse whips his blade back closer to the prince's face, who visibly stiffens at the motion. "I didn't say I'd let you live!"

A snort builds, and Miranda has to forcibly swallow it down. She can cackle in amusement later.

"Reepicheep! Stay your blade!" Trufflehunter suddenly yells, startling Miranda and annoying the mouse apparently called Reepicheep.

"Trufflehunter! I trust you have a very good reason for this untimely interruption!"

'He's really quite cute, all indignant and formal like that,' Miranda thinks to herself. She only just manages from saying it out loud by the simple fact that the mouse has a sword that looks like a needle, and she's never been overly fond of needles.

"He doesn't, go 'head."

Miranda has to purse her lips and hide her face behind the badger in her arms to keep her silent laughter hidden. 'Not the place,' she silently chides herself.

"He's the one who blew the horn!" Trufflehunter finishes, gesturing grandly with his paw, so much so that it throws off her balance and she has to shift him in her arms to keep him from tumbling toward the ferns underfoot.

"What?" asks the mouse apparently called Reepicheep as he lowers his blade from Prince Caspian's stunned face.

"Then let him bring it forward," says the tallest centaur as the team of them trots over the crest of the hill to observe the scene. "This is the reason we have gathered."

Reepicheep hops off of the prince's chest then, and kindly sheathes his sword. Miranda almost comments on the adorable red feather perched on his head, but she decides against it.

"And who is this Daughter of Eve you've brought along, Trufflehunter?"

"She appeared in the middle of the woods, the same night Prince Caspian here showed up at our doorstep."

"I'm Miranda," she adds, unsure whether to offer her hand to shake or not. Is hand-shaking a custom here in Narnia?

"A pleasure. Now come, join us."

* * *

**sarahwood - Yeah, they actually surprised me! I was expecting Miranda to be a little more shy, but she got a little sassy and I liked it so I kept it! Glad you liked her and Caspian meeting :) Thanks for the feedback!**

**Review!**


	5. Arc 1: Making a Friend

**Alright, Chapter 4! It's actually a little hard to believe I'm this far in...it isn't very far at all, but it feels like a huge step from posting the prologue. Pat yourselves on the back, because I couldn't have kept this going without you guys and your support :)**

**Thank you to Dark-Enough-Conspiracy-Theory and liz-04 for the wonderful reviews! And thank you as well to all the followers/favoriters/readers out there!**

**Is this chapter a little shorter than previous ones? Yes. Why? Because it was the only place I could cut it, anywhere else and it'd be way, way too long. But never fear, I'll try to make the next chapter a little longer than usual to make up for it ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

'He has a really deep voice,' Miranda ponders as the four of them follow the dark-coated centaurs through the woods.

It takes her a few moments to notice the prince that's come up next to her.

"I can take him," he offers, sounding just a little friendlier than before.

She shakes her head and pretends her arms aren't burning from holding up the wounded badger.

"I got it."

"I'm right here, you know," Trufflehunter grumbles, glancing up at her dryly.

"Sorry?"

They continue the walk in a silence that's, quite simply, awkward as all hell. The centaurs make their lack of conversation seem stoic, Nikabrik is sullen as usual (less so now, however), Trufflehunter has the excuse of his wound, and Prince Caspian just doesn't seem to know what to say. She can understand that; she's not sure if she should attempt to start a conversation or just walk along silently like the rest of them.

She goes back and forth on this admittedly trivial problem until they get to the camp. Camp? Well, it's more of a clearing with a few haphazard tents and old fire pits that look days old. Did everyone just get here? And how did they all hear one measly horn?

"Bring him here," says the tallest centaur who spoke before, gesticulating for Miranda to come with him.

"He'll be okay?" she asks, because even though it's just a dream Trufflehunter is kind and she doesn't like seeing him in pain. She broke out of a flashback for him, for heaven's sake.

"I'll be right as rain in no time, Miranda, don't you worry," Trufflehunter tells her with a pat on her arm.

She smiles what she hopes is a reassuring smile and leaves him in the care of the centaur whose name she still has to learn. No sooner has she walked two steps than she realizes that she has no use here whatsoever, and she has no living clue what to do with herself.

She supposes she could try and sort out whatever's wrong with her head, but that'll take energy and she's not sure she trusts anyone around here enough to go down that road. While she's sorting it out, she'll be vulnerable, and that's one thing she can't afford to be in a new place with so many new people, creatures. They could want nothing more than to kick her out, and she'd be none the wiser.

"You look rather lost."

Miranda whips around at the deep voice behind her. A centaur spoke, one of the four who first greeted them.

"Hi," she says, because what else do you say to a total stranger with half of a horse for a body?

"Suncloud. And you are?"

"Huh?"

"Suncloud is my name. And what might yours be?"

"Oh! Sorry! I'm Miranda." She sticks out her hand, expecting a very firm handshake, and the gesture is greeted with a confused tip of the head.

"I guess you guys don't do that here," she says, awkwardly letting her hand fall back to her side.

"Do what?" he asks.

"Shake hands."

"Show me."

She quirks an eyebrow at the command that sounds more playful than ominous and sticks out her hand again.

"Take it, palm to palm." He does as she says, though their massive height difference means he has to bend at the waist. "Now shake."

She laughs as he literally shakes her hand.

"No, like this." She demonstrates, and he picks up, and it's a little less awkward than before.

"Well, now that introductions are out of the way, would you like a tour of our lovely camp?"

She considers this for a moment before deciding there's no more danger in that than staying put. "That'd be nice, thanks."

"This way," he says, leading her to the right, the opposite of where she was before.

"This is the food area, where meals are made and we gather to eat." He leads her through a maze of fire pits that she didn't notice at first glance, some of which are still smoking, and past a tent that smells like a rich, earthy something.

"Whatever that is, it smells good."

"Bearn is quite talented at making even rudimentary ingredients into something delicious." He leads her out of the food area and into a more open space, with targets and wooden sticks laying about in some complicated pattern she can't figure out.

"The training area," he explains. "We're always preparing for a battle."

"More like a war, if you ask me," she says as they walk past a team of fauns (or satyrs, she's not sure which name the goat hybrids go by here) making rough weapons from branches. Not a war they'd win, granted, but she's not about to say that thought out loud.

"To us, it's much the same thing." He continues past the slightly intimidating racks of more weapons to a path that leads to a place she can't see.

"What's down there?" she asks, secretly hoping he'll just tell her and she won't have to walk down a strange path with him, a person she just met.

"There is the clearing, where our meeting tonight will be." He looks down at her, with a face that has worry lines that look odd on a face so young. "The prince blowing the horn, the Kings and Queens on the way, and the unexpected arrival of a Daughter of Eve are all things we must discuss."

"Wait, how am I important here?" she interrupts. She's sure the Narnians are quite lovely, but she really hates standing up in front of crowds, particularly crowds of strangers whose motivations she can't even begin to take a stab at.

Suncloud stops and regards her like she's a child in need of a lesson.

"You are a Daughter of Eve; you must be here for a reason."

"Yeah, well I'll tell you as soon as I figure it out," she mumbles. 'It's just a dream,' she tells herself. If she's honest, it really doesn't help all that much.

"We will figure this out together."

"That's what they all say," she mutters back, under her breath so maybe he won't hear. Honestly, what he said is perhaps the most predictable thing on earth that could have come out of his mouth.

"I'm afraid I do not understand; who is they?" asks the centaur.

"Never mind." She waves it off, trying not to let her embarrassment show, even though it's heating her cheeks and making her skin feel tight and pinched. "Anywhere else I should be aware of?"

Suncloud turns from the path and walks to the side of the camp she dropped off Trufflehunter.

"Here is the sleeping area."

"It's a big empty space."

"We sleep on the ground," says the centaur, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

Miranda tries not to cringe. She'll be welcoming the feel of the hospital bed when she wakes up.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Suncloud moves on to the tent where she left Trufflehunter.

"This is the healer's tent. If you have an injury or illness, this is where you go."

She silently wonders if they have a shrink in there.

"And that's all there is," he concludes.

"Not too difficult, but I'll come crying to you if I get lost."

Miranda relishes the slight cringe that wrinkles the centaur's face.

"If you must," he manages.

"Not a fan of criers?"

"No. I do not understand the need."

"Well don't worry, most people don't. Crying is kind of a mystery; psychologists are still trying to figure out why we do it."

"Psychologists?" He stumbles over the unfamiliar word a little, his mouth screwing up at the corners as he tries to figure out how best to pronounce it.

"They're people who study the mind. I usually call them shrinks, just because that's more fun to say than psychologist."

"Shrink is much easier to say. I think I must call them such."

"A wise choice."

And there it is again: the awkward silence that often descends between people just getting to know each other who're trying unsuccessfully to think of something to say.

Miranda shifts from foot to foot to distract herself as Suncloud does the same next to her.

"So, we can stand here awkwardly, looking like idiots, until one of us comes up with some excuse, or we can attempt pleasant conversation, or we can go our separate ways. Your turf, so you pick," she blurts out. It's much easier than just standing here.

"Your forwardness is quite…" She waits for words like 'obnoxious' or 'exhausting' to some out of Suncloud's mouth, but he surprises her. "…refreshing."

A grin splits Suncloud's formerly serious face. It takes her so much by surprise that she grins right along with him.

"I think pleasant conversation would be the best of the three, don't you?"

Miranda keeps grinning, because she wouldn't mind a new friend here in her dream-world and Suncloud seems to enjoy her forthrightness, as he put it. Who better?

"Sounds great to me. So I guess we start with getting to know each other?"

"Very well. How did you come to be here?" Suncloud asks as he starts walking again, more casually this time.

"I'm not sure. I was in an accident, where two machines collided, and I woke up here."

"Hmm. And you remember nothing of how you arrived?"

She shakes her head. "No, I woke up in the forest and Trufflehunter took me in." She hesitates, because she's unsure of whether she should mention how it's just a vivid dream and when she wakes up she's back home.

"And what else?" he gently prompts.

'What the hell,' she thinks. And she tells him.

"How odd…" he muses in reply. "You believe all of this to be a dream?"

"There's really no other explanation. Even though dreams are usually self-centered, my guess is that the pain medication they put me on is making my dream psyche go haywire."

"Unless you dreamed of returning home, and you truly are here."

"Don't you wish," she retorts, with a grin to cover up how uneasy that thought makes her. She didn't want to consider that option, because if she really is here then she's got to deal with the whole mess of figuring out how to get back.

She clears her throat and changes the subject abruptly. "And now it's your turn. I know your name, but that's all I know. Family? How you came to be here?"

"I am the son of Glenstorm and Windmane, and I have two brothers: Rainstone and Ironhoof. We are some of the few Narnians left, after the Telmarines tried to wipe us out after taking our home." If Suncloud notices her unease, he's kind enough to let it go without commenting.

"I'm sorry." She can relate to the part about losing a home, if she really is here.

He dips his head in silent thanks and continues. "We gathered when the sound of Queen Susan's horn echoed throughout the forest. When the Kings and Queens of Old arrive, then we can take back our kingdom."

"Wow. That's much more interesting than my story."

Suncloud smiles down at her. "We each have our own, and now you are part of ours. I suspect you will find yours more interesting sooner than later."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now, next getting to know you question! Favorite food and favorite color, go."

"My favorite human food would have to be warm porridge with cream and cinnamon, a luxury I have not had but a few times. And my favorite horse food is fresh spring grass."

Wait a moment...horse food? Does he eat horse food too? Naturally, in the true spirit of getting to know him, Miranda asks exactly what he means.

"Centaurs have two stomachs: one of a horse, and one of a human. We must eat to fill both," he explains with amusement sparkling in his eyes as he regards her shock.

"Well, I haven't heard of that before," is the only thing she can think of to say. A single centaur probably eats as much in one sitting as she does in a week. Time to change the subject again, as standing there gawking would be rather rude.

"And your favorite color?"

"Dark green."

"Like an emerald?"

"Like pine."

"Good choice; pine smells good too."

He chuckles and sinks down next to a stump.

"Indeed. And now I believe it's your turn."

Miranda sits on the stump and says, "My favorite food is ice cream, and my favorite color is white, because it's all of them at once, our eyes just can't see it."

"Ice cream?"

"Oh man, you guys don't have that in Narnia?" At his shake of the head, she proceeds to explain the wonder of the frozen treat. "…cream and sugar and you can add any flavor under the sun that you can think of."

"It sounds wonderful."

Miranda nods enthusiastically. This is in her comfort zone, and she likes it.

"It is. I'll have to see if I can think up a way to make it here, because everyone should know what ice cream tastes like." She's beaming, she knows, but she can't help it. This is the first time she's felt comfortable since coming here.

"If you need a pair of hands to assist, I offer up mine."

The formality mixed with the playfulness confuses her a little, and she tells him so.

"As you can probably tell, I don't speak quite so formally," she finishes, pleased that he looks amused and not insulted.

"I am well aware," he chuckles. "What else would you like to know about me?"

"Well, I actually have kind of a selfish favor to ask…" Miranda trails off in embarrassment, staring down at her shoes and suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that her clothing is very 21st century and not at all medieval or Narnian. At least it's only jeans and a flowery top, and not shorts that barely cover her behind.

"I will happily oblige for a lady." Suncloud's tail flicks back and forth, looking very much like a cat's and not at all like a horse's.

"A brief history of Narnia would be very helpful, because everyone keeps talking about the Kings and Queens and Telmarines and Prince Caspian mentioned Aslan and I'm just really confused about everything." She gulps in a greedy few breaths after expelling the entire long sentence in one.

"Where do you wish me to start? From the creation of Narnia or the history from the Golden Age?"

For a moment, she's surprised he's actually going to humor her. But she recovers quickly and just says from the Golden Age. She probably doesn't need to know everything there is to know about Narnia, after all.

The two of them sit there for hours as he tells her everything about how the Golden Age began after the Great Winter, how the Pevensies defeated the White Witch and became the Kings and Queens of Narnia, enthroned at Cair Paravel. And he tells her about the Telmarine invasion too, after they disappeared while hunting the white stag.

It's a bit of an information dump, but it's what she asked for. She absorbs as much as she can, knowing she'll have to clarify some things as she goes, but all in all she's much better off now that she has at least a rudimentary idea of Narnia's history, in particular the Kings and Queens everyone is buzzing about.

Miranda's quite torn between wanting to meet them and wanting to shoot them. She's sick of hearing their names already. It takes several mental reminders that they're probably quite lovely people for her to stop cringing inwardly every time she hears their names in passing.

"I think that is more than enough history for today, don't you?" Suncloud says as she sits silently, digesting everything she's heard.

"I've had my crash course, it was wonderfully told, and I'm ready for a long nap," she admits.

"Crash course?"

"Quick once-over of the basics of something, in this case Narnian history."

"Ah." Suncloud lurches to his feet and extends his hand to help her up, which she accepts with a smile. "If you wish to rest now, I will leave you to it. Do remember to come to the gathering tonight."

"Why is it I have to be there again?" Miranda tries not to sound like a petulant child, but she's not sure she succeeds. She really, really wants to sleep and wake up and see her mom again, and hopefully her dad too, if he's not at work.

"You are a Daughter of Eve." He says that like it's obvious, and it makes her want to growl and stomp away. So she has two legs instead of four; what's so special about that?

"Right." She opts for a more diplomatic thumbs up and skitters away to the blank clearing of grass Suncloud told her was the sleeping area earlier. It takes her several minutes to settle on a spot, one not too close to the rest of camp but not so far on the outskirts that she's outside its protection.

To her surprise, she nods off as soon as her head hits the grass.

* * *

She opens her eyes to a white-washed ceiling that makes her miss the green canopy of the Narnian forest. An absurd thing, really. 'Narnia isn't real,' she has to remind herself.

She's also very aware of the fact that she's alone in this hospital room with only the incessant beeping of the heart monitor to keep her company.

It's…lonely. She isn't one to shy away from solitude, but she feels _lonely_. Really, really lonely; the gaping kind that feels like suffocating.

Miranda lays there in silence, listening to the steady beeping and wishing her mom or dad was there. But a glance at the clock shows her that it's nearly 4 in the morning. She'll be on her own for several more hours, until the nurse comes in to check her IV drip and maybe her temperature too.

"What am I supposed to do?" she says aloud, to break the silence. "I could count sheep. Or maybe make up a story about every object I can see in this room. Maybe I could sing something!"

Except she can't sing to save her life. Tone-deaf is the best compliment she's heard with regards to her voice.

"Maybe count the IV drip drops?" This is so ridiculous she makes herself smile, a strange feeling to say the least. Why smile when no one else is around to share the joy?

"Or I could think about Narnia again."

Oddly enough, this seems to be the least disagreeable of the options she's previously considered, so she nods to herself and begins.

"Well, it's nice there. All woodsy and nature-ified. It's pretty, and peaceful when we're not running from soldiers or arrows, or stalking a prince, or meandering through a camp filled to the brim with strangers."

Miranda feels like an utter idiot, talking to herself in the middle of the night like this, but what does it matter? No one's around to hear her anyway. At least, she hopes so. If there is, well, they'll have a night of entertainment until she falls back asleep.

"I'm going to miss Narnia, when I'm off these meds," she realizes.

It's absurd to miss something that doesn't really exist, but the dreams are so vivid that she feels like it _does_ exist, even if it's just for a few hours while she's asleep. It feels real, even though it isn't.

Maybe it's because she's met so many people, and her head doesn't usually dream up a lot of new faces. And they're kind to her, even though most of them are half animal or all animal. But they can talk, and they make her feel welcome underneath her quiet anxiety at being in a strange place with strangers who haven't necessarily proven she can trust them just yet.

And she flashes back a lot less there.

They'd been happening off and on for the past week before she took genuine notice of them. They started out small and insignificant, and gradually grew until she crashed a car in her panic. And there, in the world she's somehow dreamed up, a world she is and isn't sure is her own wild imagination, she feels safe.

She has no idea what to make of that.

"Well, I can't live in a dream world," she reasons aloud. So she can't get too attached; she'll have to try and remember that next time she dreams. She'll have to ask the doctors about this to, next time she's awake and they're here.

What will they say? They won't throw her in a psych ward, right? She'd rather not admit that as a fear, but it's there just the same. She's not crazy, is she?

If only she had someone to talk to. But wait; she can talk to someone in Narnia, just for the catharsis. A dream person knowing won't do any harm, right? Why would it? Dream people aren't real, or so she has to keep telling herself.

She wonders over this idea for what feels like minutes, but must be quite a bit longer, because she sees the room lightening up after a little while. A nurse with bags under her eyes comes and checks on her as she tries to catch a glimpse of the rising sun through the blinds. Miranda tries to ask to speak to a doctor, but she's told they'll be in to check on her soon, and even when she's trying to explain that she might not be awake and she needs to talk to one now, it feels like she's being brushed off.

"She'll be in today, and you can see her tomorrow if you miss her," the nurse insists before walking unceremoniously out of the room.

"But I need to talk to her now," Miranda whispers to the closed door.

All she wants to do now is go back to sleep and go to Narnia where the people she speaks to listen to her. But she can't, not until she figures out how this dreaming thing works. Not until she's sure it's safe to pour out everything she wants to a friend she's just met. She can't take chances, not with this.

So she waits, and waits, and waits. At some point, she thinks she feels a phantom hand on her shoulder, and she braces herself for the panic that she's sure will be here any second. But it doesn't, leaving her confused but still determined to wait for the damn doctor.

Miranda tries to stay awake, she really truly does, but in the end she loses the battle, just as she thinks she hears footsteps in the hallway.

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**Review!**


	6. Arc 1: A Terrible Liar

**Sorry about the ****slightly late chapter guys, I was dealing with a small personal emergency for the past few days so I was hung up. But I think it's resolved now so we're back in schedule!**

**Thank you to liz-04 for reviewing, and to all you quiet favoriters/followers/readers out there! **

****Forewarning about this chapter: it gets into what happened to Miranda in considerable depth, and may be triggering. Read with caution. And if you don't want to read this chapter, you can skip it and send me a PM and I'll tell you anything you need to know for future chapters.**

**On a happier note, please do leave me your thoughts! I love hearing from you guys :)**

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**Chapter 5**

"Wake up, Miranda!"

She starts awake at the harsh jostling of her shoulder. The sight of the male face so close to hers almost makes her scramble away in fear. But it's only Suncloud, and she's about to be late to the meeting, or so he's telling her.

"It starts any second, get up!"

"How important is this thing?" she grumbles, somehow quite annoyed at being woken, even though it was just a nap and she wasn't too exhausted and she isn't too tired now, because her visit with her mom is still swirling in her head.

"Quite, as I've told you before." With one final tug, Suncloud has her on her feet and stumbling after him.

The first thing she knows is that she was just telling herself how few flashbacks she has in Narnia.

The second thing she knows is that she's yanking away from the kind centaur and trying not to scream, because for a moment the hand wasn't his and she wasn't in Narnia.

Suncloud looks back at her, concerned, as she tries to control her breathing, but she's losing the battle and she thinks she's going to throw up because his face is constantly there, and the pain between her legs and her cheeks is like fire and she can't take it.

"Go on, I'll catch up," she manages to say amid the blinding, paralyzing terror.

"No, something's the matter, and-"

"Go!"

Miranda didn't mean to yell, but yell she did. She's not entirely sorry, if only because it works and Suncloud leaves her so she can calm down and convince herself that he's not here to hurt her, he's not trying to win her trust so he can crush her later.

Right?

She isn't sure what's real right now; the flashes and the memories of pain and cruel pounding keep coming faster and faster, as if they've been waiting for this forever and they're at last free to run amuck.

Something is telling her that going to the gathering in the immediate aftermath of this isn't the best idea in the world. But if she doesn't show, they're sure to ask questions, and what chance does she really have of surviving on her own in the wild? Or worse, with the soldiers on the loose and chasing after the prince she's been seen with?

Except those soldiers did die, so no one else knows.

But if the Narnians start looking for her? They know the woods like the backs of their hands or better; she stands less of a chance with them than the soldiers, and they'll think she's a spy or traitor if she leaves.

Miranda hauls herself to her feet with more difficulty than she'll ever admit. The flashes are still coming fast and heavy, but she has to grit her teeth and force herself to go to this blasted meeting, and then she can run off into the woods and take care of herself and stuff the memories back into the steel box they belong in.

It feels like _he_ is behind her every step she takes. Waiting like a spider for her to turn around so he can take her mouth. Her jaw aches just at the suggestion her mind puts forth.

But here she is, almost to the clearing; she's managed to stumble across the now-deserted camp to the gathering area, and now the angry shouts of the Narnians threaten to drown her. It takes her a few moments to realize they're not shouting at her, but at Prince Caspian, there in the middle, surrounded on all sides.

Miranda wants to reach out to him, because he looks so sad and lost and unsure of himself, but she knows that her mind will convert the prince to _him_ and she can't have a meltdown here. Not in front of so many.

Still, she can't help but cringe as the Narnians raise their fists in anger and call Prince Caspian terrible things: liar, murderer, thief. It makes her sorry for him that he has to stand here and take it. He can't fight back, not really, not without stirring them up further.

"Kill him!" comes an angry shout, from one of Suncloud's brothers.

Miranda looks to find her new friend, but can't place him in the sea of faces, all contorted with anger.

"All this horn proves is that they've stolen yet another thing from us!"

Miranda looks down to see Nikabrik looking furious, pointing an accusing finger at the prince who's standing in the middle, silently taking all this. She decides right then that she wants to try to be a friend to him, even though she didn't have the best of first impressions. He looks like he could use a friend.

"I didn't steal anything," Prince Caspian replies, his voice significantly quieter than the voices around him. She's not sure if he's trying to seem non-threatening, but she's very sure that if he is, it's a bit late for that.

"Didn't steal anything? Shall we list the things the Telmarines have taken?" comes the angry reply of a Minotaur waving his axe in the air.

"Our homes!" answers a female centaur.

"Our freedom," says a faun.

"Our lives!" This is the collective accusation that all of the Narnians, save a few silent and stoic ones, make, a deafening roar of anger and hurt.

That's the realization that hits her. They're hurting, and she somehow forgot that because their anger seemed so strong. They are sad and broken beneath it all, but still so strong. And so is he, the prince they stand here and accuse as if he's a common criminal. And so is she, though she hasn't trusted any of them with her secrets yet. This changes her view of this whole thing entirely.

The shouts don't make her want to shrink away in fear, or run off into the forest away from all this madness, not now that she understands. She feels like they're all the same, deep down.

"You would hold me accountable for all the crimes of my people?"

Miranda can hear the pain in Prince Caspian's question, that he's suffered at the hands of his people too. And here he is, being blamed for all of it.

"Accountable, and punishable," snarls Nikabrik as he stalks toward him.

She wants nothing more than to run down and stand next to him, Prince Caspian. But she's still afraid, and she doesn't want to be but she is. Her feet won't obey her.

"Ha! That is rich coming from you, dwarf." Now Reepicheep has joined the fray, toothpick sword drawn as he bounds toward the dwarf. "Or have you forgotten that it was your people who fought alongside the White Witch?" The mouse punctuates the last two words with little waves of his sword, which Nikabrik rudely bats away.

"And we'd gladly do it again, if it would rid us of these…barbarians!"

The blame game is one the Narnians are playing well tonight. She hates watching it.

"Then it is lucky that it is not in your power to bring her back," Trufflehunter cuts in.

She remembers Suncloud telling her about that, the Great Winter and the White Witch and how the Pevensies defeated her and brought about Narnia's Golden Age. That was them, right?

"Or are you suggesting we ask this boy to go against Aslan now?" Trufflehunter finishes.

This prompts a roar of disapproval from the Narnians. So they have enough sense not to want a witch back; that's a good sign.

Trufflehunter then does the thing Miranda wishes she was brave enough to do. He speaks for Prince Caspian, in his favor.

"Some of you may have forgotten, but we badgers remember well that Narnia was never right unless a Son of Adam was king."

"He's a Telmarine! Why would we want him as our king?!" Nikabrik's holler gets another roar from the crowd. Until Prince Caspian silences them by saying something no one was expecting him to say.

"Because I can help you." Quiet descends, and for the first time all night, the Narnians listen to him. "Beyond these woods, I am a prince. The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine! Help me claim it, and I can bring peace between us."

She believes him. Miranda believes him even though she doesn't even know him.

Silence descends as the Narnians digest this. Then the tallest centaur, Glenstorm, as she's learned his name is, comes forward, saying, "It is true. The time is right."

His gaze inclines upward as he continues, "I watch the skies, for it is mine to watch, as it is yours to remember, badger. Tarva, the Lord of Victory, and Alambil, the Lady of Peace, have come together in the high heavens."

Miranda finds her gaze is drawn upward to look for the constellations, even though she doesn't know what they look like.

"And now here, a Son of Adam has come forth to offer us back our freedom."

Glenstorm's tone, one that marries determination and somberness, draws her attention back to the middle of the clearing, where Prince Caspian is looking awestruck that someone's actually taking his side.

"Is it possible? Do you really think there could be peace? Do you? I mean, I mean really?"

Miranda looks for the source of the tiny, hyper voice, but she can't quite find it. When Prince Caspian addresses a rotund squirrel perched on a branch near him, she can't help but wish that the real world had talking squirrels.

"Two days ago, I didn't believe in the existence of talking animals! Or dwarves, or-or centaurs. And here you are." She's yet to see the prince this passionate, and it warms her. "In strength and numbers that we Telmarines could never have imagined! Whether this horn is magic or not," he says as he holds up the carved reason for the gathering, "it brought us together. And together, we have a chance to take back what it ours."

She'd follow him. And Glenstorm agrees.

"If you will lead us," the centaur says, "then my sons and I offer you our swords."

The dull ring of many other swords being drawn and held in the air echoes throughout the clearing, and Miranda is left wishing she had a weapon of her own to lift in loyalty.

"And we offer you our lives," finishes Reepicheep, though she can barely hear him from where she's standing, "unreservedly."

"Miraz's army will not be far behind us, Sire," Trufflehunter interjects.

Miranda's stomach churns at the thought of facing more soldiers, and an army of them at that.

"If we are to be ready for them, we'll need to hurry to find soldiers and weapons," orders Prince Caspian, with a newfound confidence that makes her smile. He says something else, but she can't hear what it is because she's too far away.

And then the clearing, well, clears. Some of the Narnians file out, and many flock to their new leader, a Telmarine prince who actually looks like he should be in charge. She supposes he's born for this, trained for this, but such confidence is something she can't help but admire.

She's also hopelessly unsure of what she should do now. What purpose does she serve here? None, that she's aware of. So much of her just wants to run off into the woods and leave this whole thing behind, to try to make a place for herself until she wakes up at home. But that doesn't sit well with her.

Even though the Narnians are all strangers to her, she feels an urge she can't put her finger on to try to help them in any way she can. But what can she offer? The only thing she's really good at is psychology and how people think, and what use is that in a war?

Wait. It could be quite helpful in a war.

'And just how do I use that?' she wonders, sitting down on the grass behind a boulder large enough to hide her from view. 'Yes, I should just waltz up and go, 'Hi, remember me? Well I'm good at dissecting the human mind, so what do you say you take me to go meet your dearly beloved uncle and I'll figure out what's going on in his brain?'' Somehow, she gets the feeling that approach would be extraordinarily unhelpful.

Not to mention how many people it would rub the wrong way.

But it is all just a dream; what does she have to lose? Very little, technically speaking.

And logic aside, she wants to do right here. She cares, even though she knows none of this is real.

She needs to talk to that doctor she keeps missing, and soon. And she always wakes up after she's fallen asleep here, so it's time to go back to the sleeping area and get some sleep.

But as soon as she's made her way over there, there are so many people that she's afraid to go to bed, surrounded by strangers that she isn't positive mean her no harm.

"I apologize about the meeting; we did not address your appearance here."

She jumps a little at the surprise of Suncloud sounding so close to her.

"It's alright," she says as she turns around, trying to mask her nerves.

"Are you ill at ease?"

"Is it that obvious?" Miranda can't help but be a little annoyed at how Suncloud seems to read her so well. Like a father, or a brother.

"Yes." A smile seems to be tugging at the centaur's mouth, as if he's amused by her discomfort. It makes her hackles spring up.

"I'm not used to so many creatures in one place," she says, hoping he'll buy the half-truth.

"Ah, I understand. There is a spot towards the edge I can show you. It is safe, and it is away from the crowd."

"Thank you." She's grateful beyond measure, though she isn't sure how to say it aloud. She hopes Suncloud understands how much she appreciates this. "That would be wonderful."

"Come." He beckons to her, and she forces back a memory that's threatening to surface.

Someone else has said those words to her.

"Suncloud? How would I know if this was real?"

Miranda wasn't expecting to ask that, but it slipped out before she could censor herself, and now she regrets it, just a little.

"I suppose you wouldn't."

The answer isn't the one she wanted, but it's honest, and oddly it comforts her more than she thought.

She thanks him, both for the answer and for the space he shows her in the shadows where no one will see her unless she makes a real ruckus.

It takes her the better part of the night to fall asleep, and it's only when the snores of the rest of them echo through the clearing that she finally relaxes enough to sleep.

* * *

Miranda wakes in the middle of the night, with crickets chirping and the moon shining on her face. The shadows she laid down in have moved just enough, and now she feels vulnerable without the protection. She's not invisible now.

So she gets up and tiptoes to the edge of the woods, where she feels safer. Even if everyone is asleep, she doesn't like the idea that one of them could wake up at any time, and she'd be out in the open and defenseless. She knows that feeling, and she never wants to be helpless again.

Speaking of which, now's as good a time as ever to try and sort out exactly what happened. She's all on her own, it's the middle of the night, and the distractions will be sparse to none.

So she sits down on the nearest log, still in sight of the clearing but hidden in the shadows, where she can see all but none can see her.

She doesn't want to know.

Miranda is keenly aware of this fact, but she's of the mind that she has to know, or how can she cope with it? How can she stave off memories if she can't even make sense of them? She can't, and she can't afford to be vulnerable here in Narnia. She needs a clear head to figure out what her purpose here is. Flashbacks do nothing to help, obviously; they hinder at every turn.

She begins with the patches she remembers, the things that come to her in flashes. An oily voice whispering things like, "There's a good girl," and "Come here," and "It'll feel so good," and "Let me take care of you." Then come the shouts, the profanities hurled at her that pair with the suffocating feeling of running forever and never being able to stop because he'll win if she does. The smell of asphalt after the rain comes to her, a hand yanking her hair, the echoing thud of her skull hitting the ground.

She remembers how it started too. How she kept noticing him around, always looking at her, studying her like a specimen in his own personal lab. How he came up and introduced himself one day when she was in class, because of course he was a classmate of hers. How his handshake was too firm and far too long, how he constantly smelled of tobacco and unwashed clothes. Stale, like he'd been rotting for a long time. She remembers how sometimes when she'd look back while she was walking from her friend's house to her own, he'd be there, walking a ways behind, but always watching. Always studying, always waiting.

And the night, that night where she knows something awful happened, but she can't remember anything other than snapshots of pain and screaming, so much screaming and begging. The taste of blood in her mouth, how hot and bitter it was as she spat it out. She can still see the red spattering onto the pavement, painting it with her panic and disgust.

Miranda remembers all these things, but she can't remember sights, not aside from a leering face with a smile that's too pinched and eyes that are too small and hair that curls every which way, hair the color of a sick sun; an ugly, deformed gold that could have been beautiful, if only he thought to wash it.

Her heart rate is already far beyond her control, but she's getting there and if she doesn't know now, she'll never have the courage to go to this place again, she's sure. But all that comes to her is a pale shaft, the gag reflex that was triggered mercilessly as it forced its way into her mouth and throat, making her vomit but blocking the vile stuff from escaping, so it sat in the back of her throat and burned through what felt like a thousand different nerves. She remembers how her teeth sank down as her last resort, her final desperate attempt to buy some time to get away. The image of the spattered blood comes to her again, the dark red illuminated by the flickering streetlight on the curb.

She doesn't want to know, still. But she has to, so she forces it.

She forces herself to remember every detail of the face, of the house where he took her, how the front door was one of screen and then one of wood, both splintering and cracking from age or overuse. The dust that sat unattended on the kitchen counter that they passed on the way to the room. His room, the room where he…she knows he did something, but she doesn't know. She knows it hurt, she can feel her lower half clamping in protest just to the memory.

Then it comes back. All of it, like a flood she's staring at and can't stop.

It hurts now as badly as it did when he first took her. It burns now, like a sin seared into her skin for all to see. She wouldn't be a bit surprised if something did show up, because it feels like all of her is on fire, burning in hell for her stupidity. She didn't resist as he led her into the house, she remembers now. She felt happy for the attention, innocently sure that they'd just be watching a movie. A movie in the living room, right?

The bed was unmade. She remembers wondering why they were in his room, because there wasn't a TV and she couldn't see a computer. And the sheets were a hideous greenish-yellow, a color both faded and too vibrant to stomach.

She first understood then that something was wrong. When she asked him what was going on, and he said to just lay down and relax, because she was in for the ride of her life. He used another word, actually, but she doesn't want to even think it, because it makes it feel even more real than it already does.

Then nothing. She must have blacked out, or her mind won't let her access whatever happened, but her next memory is of searing pain, pain that feels like it's tearing her open from the inside. The pain of being stretched where she never should be stretched, and his whisper in her ear that she's so tight and such a good, good girl that he could just take her all night. She remembers trying to scream, only to find his hand on her throat, blocking the sound from ever escaping. And it makes it hard to breathe, hard to think, and everything is going fuzzy.

He whispered to her all about her ass and how much he loved it before the pressure on her throat made her black out again.

She can't take much more of this, she knows. Her heart is ready to beat itself clean out of her chest, and her breathing is so erratic that her vision is going fuzzy and her hearing is warbled. It's like she's being choked all over again.

She needs to calm down, and she knows it has to be now. So she lets her mind bury the memories back in the part of her she can't access. She needs the break, she needs to pretend, just for a few minutes, that none of it ever happened and she's just a normal girl in a world called Narnia in the middle of the night, sitting on a log in the woods because it's a nice night and the moon is winking at her through the trees.

A crunch behind her has her bolting to her feet with her fists in front of her face before she can even blink. She just about curses aloud when she sees the startled face of Prince Caspian staring back at her.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" she says, hoping he can't hear how her voice shakes just the tiniest bit.

"Shouldn't you?" he returns.

He has a point, but she's not about to say so.

"No one gave me a curfew, and it's a nice night."

"It is. The moon is quite bright."

Miranda nods and forces herself to lower her fists and return her unballed hands to her sides.

"Sorry by the way, you startled me."

"This would be the second time I've startled you badly enough that you were ready to fight me. I believe I must be the one to apologize."

Is a prince about to apologize to her just for startling her? Well this'll be a first.

And he does, with a bow and a flourish, and the absurdity of the whole thing makes her smile. Smiling feels foreign to her after her recent memories, but it feels good too.

"It's fine, I'm just a little jumpy. Waking up in a new world can be disorienting."

"I imagine so," says the prince with a chuckle.

"Well Your Highness, I think I'll leave you to admire the moon while I get back to sleep." Miranda moves to walk back to camp to keep up the pretense, but the prince stops her.

"You really are a terrible liar, Miranda."

"Is that the first time you've actually said my name?" Anything at all to distract him and keep him from guessing what's really the matter.

"Changing the subject will not work. I know it's not my place to ask what troubles you, but may I ask anyway?"

Miranda rolls her eyes and keeps herself angled away from him, even though she's a little bit touched by his respect.

"You can ask all you like."

"Then what troubles you?"

She puts on her most winning smirk and tries not to relish in her reply. "I never said I would answer you."

Prince Caspian furrows his brow in what she guesses to be annoyance.

"And why do you want to know anyway?" she continues. "I'm a stranger to you."

"Well you did advise me against leaving last night." He takes a step toward her; she mirrors him by stepping backwards. "And you are afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you," she says, not caring that she sounds indignant. "I'm just cautious."

"Why?"

"New world thing, remember?"

Prince Caspian shakes his head, and she marvels at his audacity.

"It's more than that. I will stop asking what it is, but please know you have nothing to fear from me."

"Liar."

The word falls from her lips before she even realizes she was thinking it, leaving her with nothing to do but square her jaw and try to look strong.

Prince Caspian, on the other hand, looks a little hurt and a lot confused as he looks between her and the ferns that come all the way to his knees.

It's not his fault, and she does want to tell him so; it's just that she's heard those words before, panted into her ear as her demon took something from her, and she hates hearing the same words from Prince Caspian's lips. She saw someone good earlier tonight in the meeting, and she wants to think of him like that, not as someone who's waiting for the right moment to break her.

"I'm sorry," she finally manages to say. "I just don't like it when people say that. It sets my teeth on edge."

He nods, forehead still wrinkled in confusion, but the hurt is gone.

"I will avoid such words in future." With that, he turns away from her and starts to walk back in the direction of the camp.

"Wait," she says, almost against her will but not quite. He turns around, cautiously expectant. "What you did at the meeting earlier? That was pretty cool."

He dips his head in what she assumes to be a 'thank you' and smiles just a little.

"It was the right thing to do. We all have lost things dear to us."

The way he's looking at her makes her wonder if he doesn't mean her too.

"Well good job. The Narnians have a good leader."

Prince Caspian smiles at that, really smiles, though he doesn't show his teeth.

"Thank you."

Never have two words sounded so good to her. They sound…safe, like he means them without any malice or twisted purpose. She's been thanked before too, after it was over that night, but this thanks is different; it's sweet and true and pure.

She almost thanks him too, but she understands this would only confuse him more, and so she settles for a hesitant smile, the best she can conjure, and a quiet "You're welcome" before letting him walk away.

Somehow, that fact that he does just that, walks away, sticks with her the most, and it puts a smile on her face that lasts well into sunrise.

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**Review!**


	7. Arc 1: Give Back, Somehow

**Alright guys, I've got some news for you. It's bittersweet, so bear with me. I've decided to get a beta for this story because while I do have a very strong idea of where I want it to go, I really feel like this story needs an extra set of eyes going over it before I post. That's the good part. ****The maybe not as good part is that I'm not sure what this means for updates yet. I'll obviously keep you guys informed, but at the moment I'm looking at putting all my stories on hold to finish this one. That looks like no updates for at least a month, after which the updates will come on a regular schedule. So just a little patience on your part and a lot of intensive work on my part and we're looking at a much better story with scheduled updates after a little bit of a wait. I am quite excited about this, and I hope you guys are too. Okay, enough business!**

**Thank you to you lovely reviewers in particular! For last chapter, that was liz-04, sarahwood, and Guest. Reviews never fail to make my day! And of course, thank you as well to everyone who's favorited/followed/read this story thus far :)**

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**Chapter 6**

When the camp starts humming to life, Miranda stands from her log, rubbing her backside where it's gone numb, and hurries over to see if she can make herself useful. There's a lightness to her step that puts her in a mood to be as kind as possible. It takes her the skip back to camp and into the cooking area to understand that she feels truly safe. She hasn't felt that in…a long time, she realizes. Quite a long time, and it feels so good that she could just sing. It'll fade of course, but for now she can enjoy it.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks a faun who seems to be in charge of breakfast.

She's directed to cut up fruit, a task she does with a bounce in her step and a grin still on her face. If her cheerfulness is annoying to anyone, they don't say a thing; in fact, some of them hum along to the tune she whistles intermittently.

After breakfast, she seeks out Suncloud and asks if there's a way for her to train. She wants to feel useful, and she wants to make the best of this temporary high while it lasts.

"Come with me; I will teach you," replies the centaur with a kindly smile. She realizes she feels safe with him too, and it boosts her mood even more.

They train with the others in the practice area, with wooden swords that are just a little crooked. But she holds her own, or at least, as well as she can for her first lesson, and Suncloud tells her to be proud because she's made a lot of progress just in one day.

Miranda is still practically skipping as she titters through the camp, looking for something else to do. She spent a few hours with the sword, and there must be something else for her to do, but it takes her the better part of an hour to find it. She ends up running into Ironhoof, Suncloud's brother, and she learns that he'll be helping with the raid Prince Caspian is planning on the Telmarine's supply wagons down by the Ford of Beruna. She wonders aloud when it'll be, and Ironhoof tells her tonight, and she asks if they need a distraction. He's surprised at her offer, to say the least, but he brings her to the group of them planning the ambush.

"She's small and quick; she might just be what we need to draw the guard."

"You are willing to do this, Miranda?" Prince Caspian asks, as if he can't believe that the girl who jumped at the sound of his footsteps last night wants to throw herself headlong into a raid where she could be hurt much worse.

"I want to help, and if this is how I do that, then yes." She's proud of the strength in her voice; it fuels her energy, which seems to be running boundless today. Maybe it's the lack of sleep? No, she knows she's thriving off of this feeling of security. She wants to give back, somehow.

Narnia. A world that's real, and a world that she just might be able to make a difference in. A world where, maybe, just maybe, she can really be safe and feel safe and find some sort of goodness in people.

Prince Caspian exchanges a look with Glenstorm, and at the centaur's nod, he tells her where to be and exactly what to do. It involves a simple hit and run, but she has another idea.

She's also keenly aware of how the idea will sound, so she keeps it to herself as a last resort kind of measure.

Dusk comes, dinner passes, and she marvels that she ends up sitting with Prince Caspian. How it happened, she's not sure, but she can't find it in her to be scared, not tonight, not after she realized that Narnia is safe and so are the people she's with. She can't wait to tell all this to the doctor, whenever she finally meets him or her.

"Why did you volunteer to help tonight?"

Miranda turns to Prince Caspian with a smile.

"Prince Caspian, I meant what I said last night. And I'm so glad you didn't push me." She leaves it at that, even though she can tell he's curious.

"One thing, Miranda; I would have you call me Caspian, without my title. There is no need for it."

She smiles broader in reply and says she'll remember that.

Her good feeling lasts into the night, even as they're preparing to leave and Prince Caspian is asking if she's sure she can keep up.

Her reply is a confident yes, one she's sure she wouldn't have been able to make yesterday. She feels powerful now, and she can't place why, but it's intoxicating. She's also keenly aware that this feeling won't last forever; she needs to take advantage of it when she can.

The small, stealthy party of a few dozen hurry through the woods until they reach Beruna, where they pick a pile of logs to hide behind. Miranda splits off with Suncloud to do her part.

"Remember, whistle twice if you need help," the centaur tells her as she ventures toward the open, still hiding in the shadows when she can.

She gives a thumbs up and delves right into her task.

The first guard is relatively easy to distract; all she has to do it toss a pebble off to his left and he scurries off to investigate. The second one needs a rustle of leaves and the thud of a rock before he leaves his post, and the third waits until he hears her whisper floating through the night breeze to go off toward the woods.

The fourth and fifth won't budge whatever she does. So she goes with her last resort and prays the Narnians aren't watching her every move too terribly closely.

She slips from the shadows into the main path through the encampment. She makes sure her shadow passes through the remaining two guards' lines of vision. And she walks toward them, hunching over just a little to make it look like she's sneaking without knowing how.

"Hey!"

Perfect.

They both come over toward her, and she looks up at them through her lashes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers in her most feminine voice. "I'm looking for Sasha. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"Sasha?" one of them gruffly asks.

"His aunt told me he's working here, felling the trees of this awful forest. We were engaged only last week, and I already miss him so. Forgive me, I just have to see him. Do you know where he is?"

She makes sure to arch her back and appear as helpless as she can. A needle of fear pricks at her stomach, but she ignores it. She knows how to handle them, she's sure of it. Suncloud's training has seen to that, though he wasn't targeting this type of scenario.

"The workers' tents are over there," says the one to her left.

"Why go to Sasha when you could have a night with me?" whispers the other one, lowly so only she can hear. The gust of air against the shell of her ear sends chills down her spine, but she puts on her most flirtatious smile.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, good sirs," she coos. She'd be disgusted with this behavior under normal circumstances, but tonight the Narnians need her help, and she's determined to give it to them.

"Let me show you."

She flashes the lewd soldier her most winning smile and quietly agrees to follow him and asks the second soldier to accompany them, so she'll feel safe. It works, perfectly.

She lets them lead her to a tent that's on the edge of all the others, and she quickly assesses everything she can reach the second she's inside. She doesn't think after that, she just does.

Within ten seconds, she's grabbed the crossbow sitting just to her left and hit one of them over the head. Within fifteen, she's hit the second one and they're both lying crumpled on the floor.

Power surges in her again, warm and heady and oh so addicting. She likes this sense of control that comes with striking back.

She doesn't waste any time getting back to Suncloud. He sends the signal that the coast is clear in the form of an owl's hoot, and then the Narnians swarm the supply wagons.

It's all surprisingly efficient. Unfortunately, Prince Caspian ends up scratching a message, presumably for his murderous uncle, in the door of one of the wagons and taking a little too much time. Two of the guards she distracted are coming back, and she has to tug him away herself, and even then his struggle is making a ruckus and she has to hush him with a hand over his mouth. Quite a feat, considering he has several inches on her.

"Two soldiers were coming, we had to go," she hisses to him as the party melts away into the forest again, and she with them.

He nods once, or at least she thinks he does; it's the dark grey before sunrise, and it's still hard to see.

They get back to the camp in the morning, when those of them carrying weapons go to unload and Miranda stumbles to the sleeping area and is out before her head even hits the ground.

* * *

When she wakes, it's daylight, almost high noon by the sun. And apparently another raid is in the works; she passes the same team, with Prince Caspian in the center, on her way to the practice area as she's trying to stretch the kinks from her back. They wave her over, and she trots up to them happily. She likes feeling like she made a difference, that she helped.

But already the safe feeling is wearing off. She thinks Prince Caspian notices; he keeps looking at her, concern on his face, and she has to force a few smiles to keep up the pretense. Everyone else seems to buy it, but he doesn't. No, he still looks over at her, as if he's waiting for her to topple over or some such nonsense. It's concern if ever she saw it, and she can't fathom why he cares so much when they barely even know each other. For that matter, she isn't sure how he can read her so well either.

"Now Miranda, because you distracted two of the guards personally last time, you'll need to stick to a hands-off approach," Ironhoof tells her.

"Or not." All twelve heads turn to look at her in confusion. "They know me; use that. Sneak up behind them, I'll be in front of them, and you clonk them on the head while they're busy staring and imagining ways to slit my throat."

No one notices the slight twinge of dark humor in the statement; a collective nod greets her proposal.

"We should have enough weapons after this raid with the ones we're making at the How," Prince Caspian says. "I think that just might work."

"The How?" Miranda didn't mean to ask that out loud in the interest of not wasting everyone's time, but Prince Caspian quickly explains.

"We've sent some of the Narnians to Aslan's How, a few days from here. They've been making weapons and training there."

"Ah."

Now they group has moved on to more tactician, wartime topics, so she excuses herself and proceeds to the training area where she finds a young faun to practice with. He gives her a few tips, but their level of experience is about equal, and so the most help they are to each other is sparring. She isn't sure about how she'd feel being taught by a half-goat who's about a foot shorter than her, anyway.

"Perhaps you should move your feet further apart?" the innocent little creature, with tufts of brown fur on his back that Miranda would just love to pat and stroke, suggests.

"I'll try. And maybe you should keep up your sword a little." He takes her suggestion to heart, and the spar continues until another interruption happens upon them.

"You both need to move less frantically."

Miranda turns to regard the young bearer of the voice that broke her focus. A child centaur, who has apparently not matured enough for a shirt to be necessary. This ruffles Miranda the wrong way, but she hides it for the sake of the poor child's feelings.

"How do you mean?" she says instead, deciding to humor the centaur because the creature does sound like he knows what he's talking about.

"I mean you both tend to just swing without thinking. Take the time to think, and you'll improve."

"Solid advice," Miranda says. "Who told it to you?"

"My uncle, Glenstorm. He's kind of the commander around here, second to Prince Caspian of course," he answers, still standing tall and proud on his colt's legs.

"What do you think of Prince Caspian?" asks the faun beside her.

The centaur shrugs, almost as if he's indifferent. "He's nice, and he speaks well. But I think he has to grow up a bit more before he's ready to seize his throne."

"What makes you think that?" Miranda asks, even though she kind of agrees with the perceptive child.

He shrugs again in reply. "He just thinks with his heart. A king has to think with his heart and his head. That's what Trumpkin told me, at least."

"Who's Trumpkin?" Miranda hasn't heard that name before, though the cadence is familiar.

"He's a red dwarf who was quite good friends with Nikabrik and Trufflehunter. They all lived in a tree not too far from here."

"And now? Where is Trumpkin now?"

"Nikabrik said that the soldiers chasing Prince Caspian took him. He charged them, and now we don't know if he's alive or if they killed him." Big tears fill the child's eyes, and Miranda hugs him without thinking.

"He'll be alright, you'll see." Of course, she has no idea if he will be, but this is what the child needs to hear, so she gives it to him.

The child sniffles into Miranda's shirt for a few moments before straightening stoically and thanking her.

"I've got to go practice my archery now, but perhaps I'll come by to give you advice again." And with that, the child trots off, flaxen tail swishing as he goes.

Miranda stares after the young centaur in blatant awe. That was no child; perhaps it was the war that made him grow up so quickly?

"Shall we?"

Miranda practices with the faun until they're both exhausted, which takes them well into dusk. They go together to eat dinner, and Miranda ends up sandwiched between him and Suncloud, a happy occasion because she's missed her conversations with him, even though it's only been a day or so.

"What made you decide to jump in to help with the raids?" he asks her as soon as she's gotten her plate of food.

"I'm not sure. I suddenly felt safe, and I wanted to give back somehow." She thinks there might be more, but that's the answer that feels right.

"You do seem less…how would you put it? Jumpy?"

Miranda nods. "I am."

"May I inquire what inspired this change of mind?"

Miranda falls silent, because she doesn't want to admit that it can be traced back to the action of one person. But Suncloud is her friend, even if a new one, and she thinks he can be trusted to keep his mouth shut if she asks him to.

"Don't you dare repeat this, but it was the prince. He walked away when I didn't want to open up. No one's done that before."

"You're happy because he walked away?" Suncloud sounds incredulous, and a part of her doesn't blame him. It is a bit odd, from a certain perspective.

"Yes."

Their conversation moves to small talk, something that relieves her. She can do small talk, she can hide away with the simple words about nothing in particular.

She suddenly wonders if she can go to the How, to help there after the raids are finished. Didn't the prince say something about training there?

After dinner, she makes a point to seek out Prince Caspian and ask him about this. To her surprise, he agrees to send her out with the next group, even though she tries to tell him that she can get there on her own if he tells her which way to go.

"It is not safe for anyone to travel alone," is his reply, one that annoys her but that she has to respect. She's grown to respect him a bit, just from his speech at the meeting before. It impressed her, though she's loathe to admit it a small and tiny part of her wants to impress him as well. She's also quite sure that she'll never admit to that again either.

"When does the next group leave?"

"The last one leaves in two days, and then the rest of us are going. We hope that the Kings and Queens will show up in these woods, since this is where I blew the horn."

"Oh." It makes sense, and it also makes sense for her to leave now because she doesn't know what to say.

That night, she helps with the last raid just as she said she would. It makes her happy, helping, even if it's dangerous and gets her heart pounding. They do appreciate the help, and it makes her feel useful, needed, like she's not just a waste of space here, not one just hanging out and wasting time.

She still blushes at their thanks when it's over, however, and she can't help it. Even if she's doing something they appreciate, she can't shake the feeling that anyone else could do it too. Deep down, she knows she wants more than to just be a decoy, but she also understands that learning the art of war takes many years, and years are something neither she nor the Narnians have.

"I wonder sometimes if there's something I'm missing, you know?" she tells Suncloud the day before she leaves with the group for the How. They need someone to organize them there, and she remembers being good at organizing things, and she thinks she could be of use, even though Narnians are different than files.

"You can think on it, but you're doing so much already. More than we expected you to do, far more. You understand that we are grateful for that, don't you?"

She finds it far too easy to brush off the praise, especially in her own head. She's not doing anything special. If she's being honest, she's just using all this as a distraction, so she won't think of any of the other things that are fighting for attention in her mind. She knows a war is no place to have constant flashbacks, even though they're determined to plague her at night.

That's the other thing; her visits home at night are rare and sporadic. Sometimes she's there and without fail it's in the middle of the night when no one else is around, and most times she simply sleeps through til morning.

And what happens on Earth while she's here? Is she in some sort of coma, or is she just asleep? What do the doctors think? When will she be able to leave the hospital? It's stupid really, that one tiny whiff of paranoia was enough to land her in the hospital with surgery.

"I practically walked myself into that damn hospital," she whispers to herself one night, another night when she can't sleep and she's taken to the woods to think on her own.

"If I asked you what that was, would you tell me?"

"You really ought to stop sneaking up on me," Miranda tells the prince as he comes up behind her.

He chuckles lowly. "Perhaps you ought to sit facing the other way."

She slowly swivels to face him, grinning at him as the moon peeks through the trees. "And where would be the fun in that?"

Prince Caspian comes and sits on the log beside her, where he's taken to sitting the past few nights. It seems he has his own trouble sleeping. She's never asked, because it seems rude to inquire when he's never demanded answers of her. He hinted that one time, but ever since he's left the subject be. She's eternally grateful for that, especially when she knows he must be curious.

Maybe it's time to let him in, just a little little bit.

"You once asked me why I'm up at strange hours of the night. I never asked you, but now I'm too curious not to."

Prince Caspian's gaze goes to his hands, hands that wring and twitch with what she can only guess to be anxiety.

"My uncle," he finally says.

Miranda hesitates a moment before she decides to speak what she really thinks. That's what friends do, right?

"That's not all is it?"

He shakes his head, hair flopping and hiding his eyes. For some reason, it tugs on her heartstrings. She doesn't know why, and most of her doesn't like it.

"No."

"You don't have to tell me, Caspian. But if you need a pair of ears, mine are open."

He stays quiet for a long time, long enough for her to worry that she's offended him and he's not going to be here when she can't sleep any more. In her own way, she's come to depend on these quiet conversations, moments that feel stolen in the middle of the night, when they're really just matters of convenience.

"I wonder if I can do this, Miranda."

"Do what?"

He shrugs. "The war, leading the Narnians. I am a Telmarine; my ancestors trampled on them for years. What reason do they have to listen to me, to follow me?"

"The reason you gave them."

He looks over at her, but she doesn't take back her answer.

"I mean it. They believed that speech you gave them. You should believe it too."

Caspian stares at her long and hard, as if he's trying to figure out if she really meant what she said, and if she did, whether he should believe her or not. Miranda stays silent to allow him to sort it out on his own. It's what she would want him to do for her were their positions reversed.

After what feels like hours he nods, a simple dip and rise of his head that somehow means more to her than anything he could have said. They spend the rest of the night sitting quietly side by side, both looking out at the forest, and both, she thinks, feeling much calmer than before. She keeps getting the overwhelming feeling that she can trust him, only she isn't sure how yet. But she decides then, sitting on the log in the quiet of the greyish early dawn, that someday she will.

The sounds of the camp coming to life again force them to stand and walk back. Miranda sneaks a look up at Prince Caspian through her eyelashes as they go, and she's surprised to see him looking tranquil, at peace. It warms her deep down to think that some of that might be because of her.

When his hand brushes hers, whether by design or by accident, she doesn't pull away like she would expect herself to. His fingers wrap around hers and squeeze for half of a moment, and then the touch that sent a strange sort of spark through her is gone.

That was his thank you; she understands that. When he peels off to his tent to put on his armor over his nightshirt, she surprises herself by looking back, just once and only for a moment. She's never looked back at anyone before. Not since before that night she's been trying very hard to forget.

This, of course, brings much of it rushing back, and she hustles to her usual corner in the sleeping area and uses the excuse of folding the blanket she left rumpled haphazardly to block the thoughts. She doesn't have to think of that now.

By the time she sits down with everyone at breakfast, she's forced the memories down so far that she can barely remember what was bothering her in the first place. She humorously wonders if it's possible to do a psychological analysis on oneself, because her head is a strange place that she'd love to understand more.

Breakfast she spends with Suncloud, speaking of small things, mostly his childhood and hers, and getting into the more advanced getting-to-know-you stage. She's silently grateful to him for befriending her, for helping her overall feeling of security. She'll have to remember to thank him out loud, to his face, someday soon.

"When do you leave?"

Well, the conversation has switched to the daily schedules, another comfortable topic that Miranda has come to enjoy over the past few days.

"Soon after breakfast, I believe, so in less than an hour."

He grins wryly and winks at her. He's made a habit of this, she suspects because it looks so strange on a centaur's face that it makes her giggle.

"Try not to miss me too much, Mira."

Mira is his nickname for her, one that she's never had before and hence one that she likes very much indeed. She's considering having everyone call her that, but then it would stop being Suncloud's special nickname for her, and she likes having the simple reminder of their friendship.

"I shall do my utmost," she replies, attempting to imitate the Narnian disdain for contractions and informal speaking.

"Train hard while you're there."

She nods enthusiastically.

"I'll make sure I can at least match you by the time you slowpokes get to the How."

He snorts, a very appropriate thing in her opinion, seeing as how he _is_ half horse.

"A few days' training will not match you to me. I have been trained since I was but a colt."

"Then let's hope I've got some hidden talent for weaponry," she fires back.

The banter between them makes her feel welcomed, at home, here. It might just be one of her favorite things that they do.

Just then, the call goes out for the party leaving to assemble, and Miranda has to stand and say goodbye to her friend. He pretends to pout for a few seconds, a rather ridiculous sight, before bending over to give her a warm hug. Ever since she's explained the concept of bear hugs to him, he takes every plausible opportunity to attempt to crack her spine with them.

"You'll have to try harder next time," she wheezes after he lets go and her back hasn't cracked.

"I can try now," comes the twinkling reply that has her prancing away and laughing.

"Save it for when you come to the How and you've had the time to miss me."

He just waggles his head at her and shoos her on her way. She smiles as she goes, just because she's happy. Being happy feels good; it's a feeling she would love to get used to.

When she gets to the tree where the rest of them have gathered, she's a little intimidated that she doesn't know any of them. They seem nice enough, however, and introduce themselves with ease. Four fauns, a Minotaur, and a talking bear. The bear's name she remembers best: Bulgy. He seems a warm and cuddly sort, the kind of bear that she finds it easy to think of as a walking and talking stuffed animal.

She spends much of the first leg of the trip with him, for warmth now that autumn is on the way and there's a slight crisp chill in the air. And then there's the fact that he's a bear and he's taken a shine to her as well, and he's another person she knows is safe.

Only since coming to Narnia can she so easily differentiate between safe and unsure. It's nice, and it's new.

Why couldn't things be so simple back home?

Thoughts of her real life haven't plagued her much in the past two days, both because she's been busy and because she's been so content that it felt wrong to consider it. But here on the road, where only Bulgy really notices if she talks or if she's silent, it's a little easier.

'No. Thinking about it won't help,' she sternly tells herself. She knows she's right, but the temptation remains. Not knowing what's happening back home is a worrisome thing, so she can't really be blamed for letting it weigh on her. But there's nothing to be done about it.

"I don't suppose you have any honey?"

Bulgy's innocent question jerks her back to reality, and she silently thanks him. Out loud, she apologizes and says she doesn't, but if she ever finds some he'll be the first to know.

He babbles on about honey, presumably because he hasn't had any in a long, long while, and bears do love honey. Miranda thinks back on the large container of honey in the pantry back home, and she wonders if there's a way to get it here. But she can't think of a way, because she isn't physically traveling to and from Narnia. She comes here when she's asleep at home, and no other time.

Midday comes much sooner than she expected. She uses the opportunity to get to know her other companions, the fauns and the Minotaur, a bit better, to help her put faces to names and such.

The fauns are mostly focused on the war, so they spend some time discussing the current situation at the How, or at least the little they know, and how they can up the efficiency. The Minotaur is silent and solemn, but he's nice enough when she asks him things about himself.

They're back on their way after their meal, and they travel into the night, stopping only when the moon is high in the sky. Personally, Miranda is exhausted, and falls asleep almost as soon as she lays down. She finds herself instinctively curling into the tightest ball she can manage to protect herself among strangers. Needless to say, she sleeps closest to Bulgy Bear.

* * *

**sarahwood - I'm glad you got that; I thought it was a good idea to at least bring you guys in on Miranda's backstory. As for Caspian, well, keep reading ;)**

**Guest - Thank you! :)**

**Review!**


	8. Arc 1: In the Shadow of Her Demon

**Alright, it's been a while but I've gotten a lot of work done on this story so it's time to start posting again! I apologize for the delay, I just wanted to make sure that this story was as good as I could get it before posting.**

**Most importantly, thank you so very much to liz-04, sarahwood, Guest, and Cursed Heart for reviewing! It was fantastic to hear from you and I loved seeing your reactions to and thoughts on the previous chapter. For those reviews I couldn't respond to via PM, I'll reply at the end of the chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Miranda groggily opens her eyes to see a familiar white-washed ceiling. It feels like it's been a long while since she's been here, and in a strange way, she finds that she missed it. The hospital is cold and clinical, yes, but it's also where she got to see her mom. Miranda supposes that the hospital and her room feel familiar.

But when she turns her head and sees a face from her nightmares, she can't help her scream.

Instantly, his hand claps over her mouth, silencing her cry. She thrashs against it, the IV in her hand wiggling around and forcing her to stop moving so much. That doesn't stop her from biting down on his hand, as hard as she possibly can.

Now it's his turn to shriek, and he does, his unhurt hand pressing against the teeth marks in his left one. A single drop of blood splashes onto the floor. It's quite satisfying. It's his turn to bleed, and that's just fair. He deserves so much worse.

He swears, and Miranda marvels that no one has come to see what the commotion is yet. It doesn't occur to her to scream again, because she's too busy watching him like a hawk, ready if he tries anything at all. She'll scream loud enough for the entire state to hear if he touches her again.

"Any part of you that touches me, I will remove," she finally says, her voice shaking so much more than she'd like. Ito her mind and probably to his too, she sounds like a scared little girl.

"Hear me out, will you?"

She doesn't say anything, because she honestly doesn't care what he has to say. But she knows she's vulnerable in a hospital bed, and there's only so much she can do. It frustrates her to no end, but she manages to pretend Suncloud is in the room next to her, and the thought calms her enough that the panic is manageable.

"I'm here to square things up," he says. She doesn't even remember his name.

"I don't care." There, much better; her voice is level, and strong. It's not a voice to argue with.

"I never thanked you, alright? It was a great night, and I know you're probably upset I didn't call, or something. So thanks."

All Miranda can do is stare at him incredulously. He thinks she's angry at him because he didn't call? And she is angry. She's never noticed this before, but she's so furious now that she could easily castrate him herself without an ounce of guilt. Anger is new to her, and it's intoxicating in its strength. If he has half a brain, he won't push her.

"Get out." Two words, spit from her mouth with more venom than ten snakes. She stares him down so he'll know she means it, really means it. She'll fly at him if he doesn't leave, she's sure of it.

"Don't be like that-" he starts to say. She doesn't waste any time in cutting him off.

"No. You don't get to say anything. Leave, now." With her eyes, she promises him a world of pain if he doesn't.

He puts his hands up, palms facing her in what she supposes is supposed to be a placating gesture. It doesn't work.

Barely realizing what she's doing, Miranda bares her teeth and snarls like a cornered animal, and this finally does the trick. He backs away, hands still up, and she smirks at the sight of his bleeding palm. Slowly, he backs out the door and closes it behind him.

It's then, at the sound of the closing door, that she starts awake.

* * *

She jerks from her cramped position at the loud sound that's startled her from her sleep.

Immediately, she feels her body tense, ready for a fight. The faun who woke her is staring at her funny, standing just far enough away that she can't reach him. He's right to be cautious; she's a wild card right now.

"Give me a second," she manages to say, forcing herself to relax enough to communicate that she's not about to pounce on him.

He just nods and hurries off, leaving her to wheeze and try to get her heart under control. It's pounding like she's just run a mile in five minutes or less, and she doesn't like it; she likes it almost as little as the sheen of cold sweat on her brow and palms.

Eventually, she's calm enough to join them for breakfast, where she pretends not to notice their concerned looks. Bulgy Bear even asks if she's alright; she has to remind herself that it'd be very rude to reply that it's no one's business. Instead, she settles for thanking him for his concern through her teeth and telling the group that she simply had a bad dream.

If only it had been just a dream.

Throughout the day's trek, all Miranda can think of is how clammy his hand was, how his blue eyes glittered in the dim light, how bitter his blood tasted in her mouth. How did he know she was in the hospital? How did he know what room she was in? How did he know when the nurses would be out? How could he possibly have known all of those things?

This time, when Bulgy Bear lapses into another speech about how he misses honey, it takes all of her willpower not to tell him to be quiet, that she's sure no one wants to hear about the damn honey. Pity that her good mood has worn off so soon, but that's not really her fault, is it? How could she have known that her demon would have come out to play again?

That night over a meager dinner of roots and a bit of bread, one of the fauns asks her if the journey is tiring her. Miranda inwardly curses her inattention to her attitude over the day and replies that it must be something along those lines. They accept this explanation for her mood, but she offers to take the first watch because she feels a little guilty for not hiding her troubles better.

Once they all go to bed and she's promised to wake the Minotaur for the second watch, she relishes in the quiet. The moon is waning, and now only a crescent peeks at her through the trees. She misses the full moon.

If she's honest, she misses her usual companion as well, even if only just a little, little bit.

Those quiet moments in the middle of the night she shared with Prince Caspian were peaceful and simple, and she can't be blamed for missing them a little, right? It's normal to miss the company of a friend.

When did her and the prince become friends?

To Miranda's surprise, that thought is the one that sticks throughout the rest of her watch. It even echoes in her mind as she wakes the Minotaur for his shift and as she curls up on a mossy patch for the night. She falls asleep still wondering about the whole thing.

The next morning, her mood hasn't improved in the slightest, though she does manage to put on a chipper face when the same faun from the previous morning nudges her awake. She really can't blame him for keeping his distance.

Over the course of the day, Miranda does try to keep up decent conversations. Bulgy Bear again turns out to be the easiest to talk to, mostly because he does almost all of the talking for her. All she has to do is submit the occasional hum of interest and perhaps a well-placed question. The day passes much like this, with Bulgy chattering and the fauns murmuring amongst themselves and the Minotaur keeping an eye out for trouble at the rear. They see the How just as the sun's sinking below the horizon.

Miranda's first impression is that it only looks like a big, rocky hill. Her second impression? That it's a rocky hill with trees and grass on the sides.

"It used to be much grander," a faun tells her. She never did get around to asking everyone's name…

'And now it's a pile of grand ruins,' Miranda thinks. Maybe she shouldn't judge the place so harshly, but how is this going to help them withstand an attack from Caspian's uncle and his (she's heard) quite powerful army?

"There should be groups training in the field behind the How. I can show after you settle in, if you'd like."

Miranda thanks the faun, a different one than before, and refrains from saying that she really doesn't think there's much settling in to be done here.

Instead, she follows them quietly to the stone rectangle that acts as the door to the rough structure. Naturally, it must have been much nicer looking when it was first built, but that was centuries ago by the looks of it.

As soon as they're inside, the pounding of metal and hammers assaults them. Miranda cringes a little at the sheer volume, even though she knows this is necessary and good if the Narnians want to win their war. It's just that this is much louder than the slam of the front door back home.

"Where am I supposed to get settled in?" she asks Ornus, the curly-haired faun next to her whose name she finally asked for.

"Follow me," is all he says, too preoccupied with admiring the work of the Narnians to really pay that much attention. She doesn't mind it; she's just glad she's not alone in the midst of the din of the weapon-making.

He leads her and Bulgy Bear to an alcove deeper into the How where indents from previous night are already made in the dirt.

"No luxury here, I'm afraid."

"I didn't expect any," Miranda answers truthfully. Really, how much worse can it be than sleeping on the ground back in the woods? At least here she can perhaps get a pillow, even if it is a rock.

"I can take your food pack," Ornus offers. Of course, the food is communal. Maybe she can help out in the cooking department while she's here; if she can move her arms after training that is.

"Thanks." Miranda hands it over with a shrug and starts to take off her sweatshirt, the same one she's worn for days.

"I think we can find you something a bit more appropriate for training."

"That might be a good idea," she agrees with Ornus sheepishly.

Since she didn't bring much of anything aside from her food pack, Miranda dumps her dirty sweatshirt that used to be a nice baby blue in a shadowy corner of the alcove and follows Ornus back out. Bulgy mumbles something about going to see if his brothers are there yet. He's ambled off before she gets to ask about them. Bulgy had spent so much time talking about honey that she's sure he forgot to mention his siblings. No matter; she can meet them later.

"Windmane will likely know where to find you some proper things," Ornus says as he leads her through winding pathways with stone walls that echo their footsteps back at them.

"Windmane?" she asks.

"Glenstorm's wife."

"Ah." She doesn't bother to say that she didn't know he had a wife, because after all she's still quite new here and how could she possibly know that when the centaur has only said a maybe a full paragraph within her earshot?

The whole thing is starting to get to the overwhelming threshold, with the new place and all the new people and getting a new wardrobe and wondering just how awful she'll be at weaponry. Miranda was just starting to feel a tiny bit of pride in herself for how well she handled the transition overall, but now it feels like too much even if she's trying to talk it down so it isn't.

Still, she hides her discomfort well enough it seems; Ornus doesn't comment on it as they make their way to Windmane. Miranda's sure the lady centaur is quite nice, but nothing is quite sticking and so the whole thing of meeting her and introducing herself and giving a quick overview of why she, an unheard of Daughter of Eve, is here in Narnia. Before she even knows it, the centaur has pressed a small stack of clothes into her arms and is apologizing for something about there only being breeches left but they do allow mobility anyway. Miranda thinks she manages to come up with something resembling a coherent thank you as she's shooed on her way to put on the training clothes.

Ornus is kind enough to wait for her since Windmane has some medicine mixing to do, if she heard correctly.

Once she's outside behind the How, everything slows to a stomachable speed and Miranda is left silently wondering if she really was that overwhelmed.

'It's just a new environment, get a grip,' she tries to tell herself. It was just a lot to take in. Right?

There's no room for her to be overwhelmed now; Ornus is pointing her to a group of Narnians, mostly centaurs and fauns, swinging swords around with varying levels of skill.

"Urothorn will help you get started." Ornus gestures to a tall and intimidating centaur with light brown hair and stern lines on his forehead with a few fauns who look younger than the rest and then Miranda finds she's on her own.

It takes her a solid few minutes to work up the nerve to go and introduce herself to the group. Her nerves turn out to be silly; Urothorn is actually quite kind to her. Not so intimidating in words, merely in appearance.

Miranda tries her utmost to concentrate. The basic footwork and stance comes to her rather quickly: keeping the heels in line, bending the knees, weight centered, chest high. Even holding a sword isn't so bad; her arm only shakes a little as she finds a comfortable grip.

"Ease your grip," Urothorn tells her. He moves to correct her white-knuckled fingers, so she tries to quickly correct it herself. Her success is limited; when he does correct her, she repeats to herself that this is Urothorn and he's not going to hurt her until her heart stops pounding quite so frantically in her ears.

"Try again," he says.

Miranda keeps silently repeating that Urothorn is not going to do anything to her as she forces her arms to stop shaking so she can hold the damned sword properly. She tries the extension again, and it's apparently satisfactory for her third go round. When her teacher moves on to help the next student, Miranda lets out a breath she wasn't fully aware of holding.

'I am not cut out for this,' she thinks, even as she notes that she can't have been at it for more than half an hour.

Her training continues in much the same cycle of mistake, correction, half-panic, and forced focus for the next few hours, long after the sun's set. Urothorn only lets them stop when it's too dark to reasonably practice. Torches would be too obvious, as he tells her when she suggests it.

"We will continue tomorrow at dawn," Urothorn tells the little group.

Dawn? Miranda does her best not to groan, but she isn't sure how well she hides her grimace. It sounds like her nightly vigils are at an end; she can't stay up to all hours if she has to be somewhere at dawn.

At least no one's expecting her company, are they?

The smile that turns the corners of Miranda's mouth up isn't all that cheery. She isn't sure why, exactly, she misses the company of Prince Caspian, but she does know she isn't happy about the sentiment. Time on her own will do her a world of good.

She joins the group of her fellow trainees for dinner, though she knows her attempts at being social are pitiful at best. To his credit, a faun named Nartus tries to spark a conversation with her as she picks at her food and smiles at something one of the others said. He says something about the training and isn't Urothorn doing so well with them.

"He's a good teacher," she answers mildly. She can tell he's shy, this Nartus, and a little bit of her wants to make him more at ease. So she asks him about himself, gets him talking for a good half hour. He seems grateful for the listening ear, and she's happy to have someone to do all the talking so she can simply listen and hum in the right places.

"And what of yourself?" he asks her after a little bit.

Miranda shakes her head. "I'm afraid I'm really quite boring. Tell me more about your brother."

And thus she avoids having to say much of anything for the rest of dinner.

A day of training passes, and then another. It doesn't get any easier as she learns more; if anything the entire ordeal is worse every time. Urothorn comments on her skittishness more than once, and she's getting increasing bad at lying through her teeth. Practice doing so is accomplishing nothing to help her predicament.

Of course, on one particularly bad day, Urothorn dismisses them in a hurry with the word that the Kings and Queens of Old have finally arrived with Prince Caspian and the rest of the Narnians. Miranda contemplates sneaking off so she won't have to deal with the crowds, but once Nartus starts talking to her that plan is shot. So she has little choice except to follow the crowd inside to the entry to the How and shout in welcome to the new arrivals.

Or, in Miranda's case, mouth the words of welcome without actually releasing a sound. She doesn't even know them, after all. They could be completely asinine and awful.

"They're so young," Nartus calls to her above the din that quiets as the royal group comes closer.

Miranda nods. She supposes the Narnians were expecting someone a bit older, but she had no expectations at all and so she's not overly concerned with their age. The one thing she is worried about? The tall blonde one in the middle who could have curly hair and the eyes of a spider if she can't keep her mind in check.

Her palms are sweating already, even though the group is a ways away yet. Centaurs clip-clop to either side of the entrance to the How and draw their swords in what she can only guess to be an ancient royal welcoming, or something of the sort.

She's more than grateful to be hidden in the depths of the crowd inside the How, especially when she notes that the torchlight will likely obscure her face and she'll blend in even more. If Nartus would hush, that is.

Is there a polite way to tell him to close his mouth for a mere minute while the monarchs pass? She's counting on her self-control to get her through the fear pushing at her chest, but that all hinges on remaining an unremarkable, unnoticeable face in the crowd.

"Here they come," says the faun. Miranda only manages not to grit her teeth in annoyance with a surge of willpower.

But just for the heck of it, she slips behind her faun friend just as the four Kings and Queens enter the How in a perfect line.

Almost immediately, just at the sight of the tall and imposing blonde one in the middle, she can feel her palms sweating, her legs cramping in preparation for a flight for her life. It's a bit absurd, considering no one at all is looking at her, especially not the King of Old, yet the choking feeling of needing to get away and hide remains.

'And what good would hiding do?' her mind whispers. 'This is their arena; they must know every nook and cranny.' She can feel her face paling just at the thought. 'There is nowhere to hide, silly goose.'

The four are followed by Prince Caspian, who, she notices, looks just a little lost. What is his position, now that the old royalty is back? She isn't sure, and she thinks he might not be either.

He glances around as he walks behind the four, and for just a moment his eyes lock with hers as she peeks out from behind Nartus. Maybe he acknowledges her, but she darts back behind her unwitting bodyguard before she knows.

Once the royal party has passed on into the heart of the How, where the rings and rough poundings of hammers on metal sound relentlessly. Nartus is babbling something about perhaps getting the chance to meet them in her ear as she turns to head back outside to finish the training for the day.

"It's not every day this sort of thing happens," the faun finishes as he trots along next to her.

"I'm sure, but Urothorn won't be pleased if we skip our training," she tells him.

"Perhaps at dinner then!"

She just shakes her head and lets him toss ideas around. If it makes him happy, why not? It's not as if she has to meet them too.

"Mira!"

Instantly she stops mid-lunge and grins at the centaur she hasn't seen in a few days.

"Suncloud! I wondered when you'd show your face!" She hesitates only a moment before running toward Suncloud, grin still in place.

He leans down and swoops her into a tight hug that lifts her onto her tippy-toes, and for a few moments she forgets how much the past few days have worn on her.

"I see you've indeed been training." The centaur winks over at the group still hard at work swinging their practice swords with some sense of precision.

"I have." Miranda's reply is cool, measured, and she thinks it says that she doesn't want to talk about it.

"Is it so terrible?"

She can only shrug like she's just baffled by her slow progress, even though she knows perfectly well why weaponry isn't working for her. It's just that no one else needs to know.

"Maybe I'm just not used to it yet," she finally says.

She never, ever wants to be used to it.

But Suncloud buys her excuse and encourages her that it just takes a little time to adjust to it is all. She hums along in the right places. To her relief, he changes the subject at the first opportunity.

"After you've finished your drills for today, my father Glenstorm wishes to speak with you." Suncloud must see the trepidation on her face because he quickly adds, "We neglected to address your presence in Narnia at the Dancing Lawn, and he wishes to talk it over with you. That's all."

She's still a bit nervous, she can feel the telltale tremors in her fingers, but when Suncloud assures her that he'll be there the whole time too, she can relax just enough to seem normal again.

As it turns out, the best time for her to slip from her lessons is now, and so Miranda quickly finds herself scuttling after Suncloud with her heart in her throat. Glenstorm is Suncloud's father so he must be fine, but she can't help the fluttering of nerves in her insides. Sons can be very different from fathers, or fathers might not take so kindly to strangers, or…or…Miranda can't come up with a third scenario, but she's sure there has to be one.

She doesn't notice she's wringing her hands until one of her knuckles cracks.

Far too quickly for her taste, Suncloud leads her inside the How and the next thing she knows, he's introducing her to a dark centaur even taller than him and much more serious.

She quakes just standing there looking up at Suncloud's father. How easily could he snap her neck in two, if he so pleased?

"Welcome to Narnia, Miranda," rumbles a deep baritone that can only be the centaur staring down at her.

She struggles to find her voice for a few seconds before eventually getting something out.

"Thank you," she answers with a voice that tries so hard not to shake.

"I apologize for our negligence at Dancing Lawn and thereafter. There was much to do."

Does he always sound so solemn? In an odd sort of way, she might find it soothing were it not for her fright. All she can think is how quickly, how effortlessly Glenstorm could trample her under his hooves.

For that matter, so could Suncloud. So why does she not quake like a leaf around him?

'Focus, Miranda,' she chides herself, forcing her attention back to the centaurs waiting for some sort of answer, or acknowledgement at least, from her.

"War tends to keep people busy," she offers.

Glenstorm tips his head downward as if to appreciate her perspective before continuing.

"I believe we must try to discern what precisely you are here for. Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are not brought to Narnia without a purpose."

Oh god, are they going to ask how she got here? How much of her past will they want to know?

More importantly, how much can she stand for them to know?

"There's no need to be frightened, Mira." Suncloud's words should be soothing, but all they do is shoot her distrust through the roof. What right do they have to the secrets of her past?

But rather than bite out those very sentiments, Miranda manages to swallow them in favor of a more respectful, "If you insist."

"We can go somewhere more private if you wish," Suncloud offers, concern wrinkling his forehead. He knows she's still uneasy at best.

Go somewhere more private where no one will be close by if she screams, or stay out in the relative open with the banging of metal-forging to cover her words but where anyone could walk by and hear some of it?

"Somewhere private might be helpful," she finds herself saying. So much the better, really. On the off chance she starts crying, better that as few people see it as possible.

Both centaurs nod and clop off down the hall, away from the banging of hammers and the hiss of hot steel hitting cold water. They stop after a few minutes in an alcove of sorts. No one else is in sight.

Miranda is both relieved and even more tense than before.

"Now, how is it you came to be in Narnia?" Glenstorm rumbles at her.

"Suncloud didn't fill you in?" She knows it must be rude, talking back like that, but she figures that a little sass is better than running off altogether. Perhaps.

"I would like you to tell me again. Details sometimes do not translate well."

Miranda isn't entirely sure what he means by that since she wasn't playing telephone with Suncloud. Still, best to just get this whole thing over with so she can get right to the stage of never speaking of personal matters like this again.

"I was on my way to a…doctor's appointment back home, after school. I was driving tired and-"

"Driving?" Suncloud interrupts. She realizes she never told him about cars.

"It's a way of quickly getting from one place to another in a machine…type…thing." She waves her hand around in the air, drawing a sketch of a car like that'll help them understand. The two centaurs regard her with pinched eyebrows and blank faces.

"Never mind, it's not all that important. Anyway, I lost control of the machine and I was injured. I woke up after the crash on the ground in Narnia, close to Trufflehunter's home. He and Nikabrik found me and took me in for the night."

"Is that all?" Glenstorm sounds as though he knows she's leaving some things out.

Naturally she is, but if she lies will they know the difference?

"That's what happened," she says. Half-truths are better than lies.

"And you noticed nothing out of the ordinary that day?" Suncloud asks her; quietly, like he's afraid of spooking her. With good reason.

"I'd been…" she bites her lip and tries to think of how to phrase it. "Out of sorts for a few days, but I didn't notice anything strange."

"Out of sorts how?" her friend presses her.

Miranda almost looses a withering glare on Suncloud just for asking, but she manages to cover with a cough and a shrug.

"I'd had a stressful time of it. Nothing major though." Now that is an outright lie, yet she doesn't quite care enough to take it back. Maybe if she hadn't woken to find that demon in her room back at the hospital, she could tell them, but she learned the painful way that she simply must not be safe anywhere.

A long silence stretches between the three of them and Miranda finds herself shifting from foot to foot. They know she isn't telling them everything, maybe even that she lied.

"We can only help if you tell us everything," Suncloud finally says, meeting her eyes steadily.

"Not much else to tell."

Suncloud looks to his father, who's all but staring Miranda down. She thinks they understand that they aren't going to get anything else from her today.

"When you are ready to speak of this more, tell Suncloud and we will attempt this conversation again."

She almost gapes at her luck, but at the last second remembers her manners and stammers out a thank you. Glenstorm takes his leave, leaving her alone with a curious Suncloud.

* * *

**Uh oh! Suncloud's going to ask questions, isn't he?**

**sarahwood - I'm so glad you enjoyed it! It was really interesting to write, and I wasn't sure at first where I wanted to put that, but in hindsight I'm glad I put it where I did. I think you're right, it was definitely time to get a peek into Miranda's reasons for why she is the way she is. As for Caspian...well, stay tuned! ;)**

**Guest - Thanks! Hope to see you again next chapter :)**

**Review! **


	9. Arc 1: Meeting the Royals

**This update is a little late, I know. I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo this month, so it's easy to lose track of time. The good news is that I anticipate finishing the writing part of this story by the end of August so from there it's just editing and steady updates :)**

**Thank you so much to liz-04 and sarahwood for reviewing, it's always wonderful to hear your thoughts on the chapter!**

**For those of you who are hoping for more Caspian, the next chapter will have what you seek. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

She shrugs at the strange look Suncloud gives her.

"A girl has to have some secrets, doesn't she?" It's more of a rhetorical question, so she doesn't feel quite so bad for getting annoyed when he shakes his head.

"You needn't have secrets here."

"It was rhetorical," she answers, unsure whether to be firm or sarcastic.

"Has something happened while you've been here?" he asks, forehead creasing in concern.

Technically, it happened on the way here.

"Not here, no," she finally says, hoping against all hope that he won't ask. He wouldn't really want to know anyway, about her demon breaking into her hospital room when he doesn't even know about the hospital.

He looks at her for long moments like he knows exactly what she's thinking, like he's debating whether to ask for details she won't give.

At last, he nods once. "Do not hesitate to ask if you need anything."

Miranda doesn't think it's necessary to point out that she doesn't make it a habit to ask for much of anything. So instead, she smiles and nods like she will, if only to try to make up for being difficult.

She's expecting Suncloud to leave and let her return to her training, but he surprises her; he suggests a walk around the How so they can catch up. Naturally, that sounds much more appealing than swinging a fake sword around for the few hours until dinner, and so she agrees.

They walk and talk, mostly of the things she missed. She makes a point of asking him about the Kings and Queens, both out of a vague curiosity and because she knows that will keep the focus away from her.

As it turns out, they're quite a pleasant sort, if she believes her friend. Queen Lucy is the youngest and friendliest, Queen Susan is practical but kind, King Edmund is stoic with a hidden sense of humor, and High King Peter is a determined leader. They sound agreeable, but secretly Miranda is in no rush to meet them. She asks how they get along with Prince Caspian, but that doesn't have so pleasant of an answer.

"Prince Caspian still doubts himself, and High King Peter is eager to take charge. Perhaps too eager, at times," Suncloud says after a brief hesitation, voice hushed even though there isn't anyone around.

She isn't surprised about the first part, and she's a little sorry about the second. The prince doesn't need to question himself any more than he does already.

Miranda says this aloud, though she isn't sure why. Suncloud nods and agrees, which surprises her more than it should.

Once the subject of the new leaders has been exhausted, Suncloud asks more about how she's found her training to be.

She tries to sound nonchalant. "It could be better, of course, but doesn't everyone have trouble at the beginning? I'll work it out," Miranda says with a shrug.

"You do not like the sword, I think," her friend returns with a slight grin.

"Not really, no." She almost asks if there isn't something else she can learn, but Urothorn really is a good teacher and she doesn't want to offend him.

"Have you thought to try the bow?"

She hadn't.

"That's an option?"

He nods in the affirmative. "Queen Susan is starting the training tomorrow. You are welcome to join them."

"I won't offend anyone? You know, for switching?"

"Naturally not! Everyone has their own skillset, Mira, and there's no fault in that."

How is everyone so very nice here? She's a stranger still, and yet she feels almost at home. How odd.

At length, she smiles her first real smile in days.

"Thank you. I think I'd like bows and arrows a little better than swords."

Before she knows it, the hours til dinner have passed and it's almost like it was in the forest, having dinner with Suncloud. There are many more people – creatures? – around here than there were in the forest, but she almost forgets her apprehension at this mass of relative strangers with the centaur next to her, joking every now and again because why not.

To her surprise, Nartus trots up and timidly asks to join her.

"Of course Nartus, you don't even need to ask," she replies with a warmth she didn't know she had in her.

Well, even though Nartus can be a little too talkative sometimes, he still is shy, and it feels good to help set him a bit more at ease.

She introduces him to Suncloud, and at first he seems intimidated by the son of one of Narnia's generals. But soon Suncloud's easygoing nature wins him over and the three of them talk as if they're old friends.

And so Miranda passes dinner in between a centaur and a faun. She's had dinner with centaurs and fauns quite a bit since coming to Narnia, but something about tonight feels less unreal. Tonight, she almost feels home, even though she knows that's absurd because Narnia can't be a home if it isn't real. She still hasn't worked that one out yet.

But sitting in between Suncloud and Nartus, chatting with them about nothing and anything, she finds she doesn't care. It's real right now and that's what counts.

The next morning, she wakes early as usual, grabs a bow and quiver, and trudges outside to where Suncloud said Queen Susan would be teaching the art of the bow. She's relieved to see a sizable number of people there. Hopefully, it'll be easier for her to blend in.

And thank goodness she's arrived before they started. She melts into the crowd as easily as anything. Well, it's a bit different because she's human and they notice, but the fauns are really quite nice and she finds herself chattering pleasantly with them before too long. Apparently they're just waiting for Queen Susan and a few others.

And just as the faun next to her finishes saying just that, Queen Susan arrives, looking every bit as regal and confident as she did walking into the How with her siblings.

She quickly introduces herself, not exactly short but not precisely easygoing either. She tells them she needs to see where everyone is, skill-wise, so she can figure out what they need most from her. Miranda instantly wants to hide under a rock. She's never shot an arrow in her life.

Luckily, perhaps, as soon as Queen Susan finishes her slightly but not entirely brusque greeting, she hones in on Miranda.

What should she do? Try and blend in? Smile and say hello like a normal, friendly person?

Miranda is still trying to decide what would be best to do when Queen Susan reaches her, looking more curious than anything.

"Queen Susan," Miranda greets her, doing her best to dip into a curtsy. That's what you're supposed to do around royalty, right?

"There's no need for that," the Queen tells her with a smile that's a bit warmer than her greeting to the entire group. "I don't mean to be rude, but are you a Telmarine?"

Miranda shakes her head.

"I'm just a girl." That much is obvious. "Human," she adds. And that is obvious as well.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I haven't heard of another human coming to Narnia. Well, not for a long time. Are you Miranda?"

"Yes, that's me. How did you know?"

"Caspian told us about you," she says simply.

Prince Caspian told the Kings and Queens about her? Why? Surely she's not _that_ important.

As if she can read her thoughts, Queen Susan smiles. "The arrival of another Daughter of Eve is a bit important. My sister quite wants to meet you."

Queen Lucy wants to meet her? Miranda's head is starting to spin.

"Would you sit with us at dinner? Lucy's determined to get to know you."

"Sure. I mean, of course," Miranda manages to stammer out. Dinner with kings and queens and princes. Who would have thought?

"Wonderful. Now am I correct in assuming you don't have experience with a bow?"

Miranda dips her head in embarrassment and admits Queen Susan is, in fact, correct.

"That's alright, many of the Narnians here have little experience themselves. But you'd best be prepared to learn fast."

Miranda can only hope she doesn't crash and burn at this as badly as she did with the swordplay.

At first, it looks as though she will do exactly that, but Queen Susan gently explains it to her as she has the others shoot at a Telmarine dummy held up by Trufflehunter. Miranda's pleased when she makes her first shot and it actually brushes the dummy. Far from good, but it's about where most of the others have fallen and so she's pleased with the result.

Yet another volley of ill-aimed arrows flies at the barely-scratched dummy, Miranda's among them. She feels a little proud to be at least blending into the pack, but Queen Susan's face is pinched like she's trying to hide her disappointment. At the end of the volley, Trufflehunter appears from behind the dummy and confirms the result.

"Not a scratch," the badger says, and Miranda can feel the weight of the words on the group of them.

"It's alright," Queen Susan tells them after a few long seconds. "Rome wasn't built in a day," she adds quietly, almost as an afterthought they weren't meant to hear.

Murmurs pass through the Narnians - mostly confusion at the unfamiliar phrase. Miranda feels a little sorry for Queen Susan who has to teach them, especially when turns of phrase familiar to her are foreign and confusing to her pupils. It's quite a predicament to find oneself in.

The hiss of another projectile launching toward the stuffed suit distracts all of them from talk of Rome and how long it took to build it. Trufflehunter lets out an indignant yell at the close call that nearly took the fur off his ear.

Miranda looks to the other archers in training standing in the line around her as they all do the same. No one knows who fired that one. Queen Susan is just praising the shot when a thick accent announces the presence of Prince Caspian and his crossbow.

"I thought you could use some help," he finishes his greeting as he walks over, eyes trained on Queen Susan.

Miranda watches the scene unfold with the same curiosity as the rest of her fellow trainees, though she wonders if they feel the same twinge of discomfort and awkwardness that she's feeling pinching at her stomach. She feels as though she's intruding on some private moment, even though they're technically just discussing a target for the uncharacteristically self-assured prince to hit to prove his skill. At least, that's what she's gathered from the exchange.

A quick glance around shows her that the Narnians around her are having mixed reactions to this. Some look on in blatant curiosity they don't even try to hide, others peek over like they're ashamed but too interested not to look, and the rest either shift uncomfortably from foot to foot (or hoof to hoof) and avoid glancing that way altogether or seem to not care in the slightest, picking at splinters in their bows and chatting with a neighbor like there's nothing of interest going on at all. And as for Miranda? She's somewhere in the middle of trying to pretend they aren't there flirting none-too-subtly and too curious not to look over a few times.

Prince Caspian takes aim at a tree that seems a little too far away to shoot at, in Miranda's humble opinion. But it looks as though Queen Susan is daring him to at least attempt the shot, and so he does. Miranda tries to avert her gaze.

Instead of gawking, like a few of the fauns on her left are doing, she reacquaints herself with the bow and strings an arrow. Best get in her practice whenever she can.

A few of the fauns join her in taking aim at the as yet untouched dummy. None of them manage to hit it straight on, but a few arrows brush the sides. Most hit one of the trees behind, and a few, including Miranda's, fly off somewhere into the forest.

A thud and a grunt sound from the forest, drawing their attention to a horse with an empty saddle galloping away. Prince Caspian and Queen Susan start running toward the tree line and disappear into it as Miranda stands surprised and looks on with the rest of the Narnians.

Queen Susan darts back outside of the trees asking which one of them fired that shot. All of the archers in training look at each other, unsure. Miranda starts to open her mouth to reply that it could have been any of them, but then she remembers where she is – in a strange world with strangers whom she hasn't decided to trust for sure yet – and claps it back shut again.

And then she opens it once more because she thinks someone is dead, because Prince Caspian is carrying a limp body covered in armor out of the trees.

"It could have been anyone. We kind of missed the dummy." Miranda finds her heart is in her throat at the words, simply because they are words and they're coming out of her mouth and she can feel so many eyes looking right at her.

She's almost expecting to be made fun of or brushed off, though that's an irrational thought. But Queen Susan just sighs.

"I know. Thank you, whoever it was. You stopped a Telmarine soldier from reporting back and giving away our position."

Queenly gratitude sounds like such a difficult concept to wrap her head around, but Miranda quickly decides that Queen Susan is the walking, talking, breathing definition of the term at the moment. Queen Susan the…Gentle? Isn't that what Suncloud said? She does seem gentle, somehow, because she's sad that someone's dead but relieved that he won't bring the Telmarines crashing down on all their heads.

The whole thing must be so complicated. Miranda almost wishes for home before she remembers exactly what home entails. She's grateful to be here all in a rush, and then sorry for being grateful, and then ashamed because this is a gift, her time here, and she should at least appreciate it.

But the more pressing question she has at the moment is what, exactly, Prince Caspian intends to do with the body slung over his shoulders. Perhaps he means to bury him; after all, it is a fellow Telmarine. He can't really leave him there in the woods, come to think of it. That would be a dead give away.

She's tempted to ask, but that isn't really her place. The royals can handle one dead body.

It's just then, as Prince Caspian is walking off with the body, presumably to bury it, and Queen Susan is just starting to go through some helpful tips for accuracy, that Miranda realizes that it could have been her arrow. She could have killed that soldier. She just might have blood on her hands.

It shouldn't matter. He was going to report back about their location, and so many Narnians could have died in the attack. She should be happy that she might have been the one to stop him.

She's not.

The thought of taking another life suddenly makes her sick, almost sick to her stomach right there in front of everyone. She shouldn't be so horrified, she shouldn't, but she is and it's all she can do to keep her face still and try not to betray her thoughts to everyone else.

She could have killed. Did she kill? Miranda knows she didn't mean to, it would have been an accident if it actually was her arrow.

By some miraculous force of will, Miranda manages to get through the rest of the long day. Her aim suffers from her distraction, but as her aim wasn't spectacular to begin with, no one really notices. Queen Susan does, perhaps, but she's kind enough to not say anything.

Noon comes and goes, the sun starts to sink on the horizon, and still Miranda can't help but wonder if it might have been her who killed that soldier. He was only doing his duty, following orders, doing all he'd ever known most likely. But that would have cost so much to the Narnians.

She's so caught up in her dark wonderings that she almost forgets that Queen Susan wanted her to meet Queen Lucy at dinner. Luckily, Queen Susan doesn't let her forget; she goes up to Miranda and reminds her.

"I think we're done for now. We can only get so much done on the first day." Queen Susan sounds disappointed, her face pinched a little at the eyes and around the mouth.

"Then I guess it's time for me to meet your sister." Miranda tries to sound cheerful, she really does, but she's afraid it sounds more forced than it should.

"The soldier's death was unsettling, wasn't it?"

Miranda's tongue almost sticks to the roof of her mouth. She can only nod.

"I haven't seen someone die before," she finally manages to get out, voice hoarse from her efforts to not tear up.

"Neither had I, before I first came here. It gets easier, but it never gets pleasant."

"How did you deal with it?" Miranda asks as they begin walking back toward the How.

Queen Susan shrugs. "The first time I saw death was Aslan at the Stone Table. Crying helped, but mostly I tried to comfort Lucy. It was a good distraction."

"You were there? At the Stone Table?" Miranda remembers Suncloud telling her about Aslan's sacrifice for King Edmund, but she somehow didn't remember that Queen Susan was there to see it.

"Lucy and I saw the whole thing. But we were so happy when Aslan came back that morning, alive and well as though nothing had happened."

Miranda makes sure not to point out that the Telmarine soldier certainly isn't coming back from the dead, nor would it be quite so wonderful if he did.

"I'm afraid I don't have much advice. There isn't much to do about it," Queen Susan adds.

"Perhaps meeting Queen Lucy will be a welcome distraction then," Miranda offers, as much for herself as for Queen Susan. She can dwell on this later, but for now it's probably best if she lets the subject drop.

Queen Susan immediately picks up this new subject thread, obviously relieved to not speak of death anymore.

"I'm sure it will. She will want to know all about how you came here, I warn you. She's very excited to hear about how another human girl got into Narnia."

"It was completely by accident, I promise," Miranda answers with a smile, putting away her loaned bow and quiver now that they've reached the armory.

Queen Susan smiles. "Lucy stumbled into Narnia quite by accident as well."

"Does that happen often? People just stumbling into Narnia?" Miranda asks, confused. Why are there so few humans from her world if people can just fall in to this one?

"No, not at all. As far as we know, it's just been us and you."

Miranda instantly wants to curl up. What's so special about her that she got to come here?

"I confess I'm a bit curious as to how you got here myself. I think we all are," Queen Susan continues as they leave the armory and head toward the cavern where everyone eats.

And there it is again. Veritable strangers asking her about personal matters. She should be as put off and unsure as she was with Glenstorm, but this time it feels a little better. Maybe just because it doesn't seem so intimidating, telling the fantastic tale over dinner with two queens close to her age. She doesn't get the feeling they could snap her neck inside two seconds, nor that they ever might want to.

"I think I should warn you, I normally don't take well to people asking all about my life," she says quietly, almost as though she's ashamed of it. Should she be?

Queen Susan nods, almost like that's to be expected.

"Well you've only just met me and you'll have met Lucy moments before she starts asking, so I think that's understandable. Just cough if you're uncomfortable and I can change the subject for you."

She'd do that?

"Thank you," Miranda says simply. She's expecting to be able to tell them when to stop asking, but it's nice to have the back up.

They arrive at the cavern and get their soup. The whole time Miranda's trying to wrap her head around the impending reality that she's about to eat dinner with royalty. Well, she's eaten dinner with royalty before - her first night in Narnia when Prince Caspian woke from being hit on the head - but this feels different.

Queen Susan leads her to a table where a young girl and a dark-haired boy are sitting. They must be her siblings, Queen Lucy and King Edmund, unless Miranda misses her guess.

As soon as Queen Lucy sees them, she springs up and rushes over with a grand, toothy smile on her face.

"You must be Miranda! I'm Lucy," she greets, still with that almost oversized smile.

"Nice to meet you, Queen Lucy," Miranda says, blinking twice at the brunette's exuberance. How does she keep that kind of perk up during a war?

Queen Lucy smiles even wider, if such a thing is possible, and says, "Oh that's not necessary. Lucy is just fine."

"Alright, Lucy."

The three of them sit down at Susan's prompting. Queen Lucy makes full sure Miranda sits with her and Queen Susan takes the seat next to her brother, King Edmund. Miranda manages to get two heaping spoons of soup down before Queen Lucy starts with the questions.

"Caspian told us a bit about you, but I'm curious to hear from you how you ended up here. I happened upon Narnia quite by accident myself, you see, and I think the same might be true for you."

Miranda takes another spoon of the almost scalding soup and chews on a chunk of potato before answering, "It is. I woke up here without really knowing what on earth happened."

"You woke up here? What do you mean?"

Miranda almost comments on how Queen Lucy is now completely ignoring her soup, but she opts instead for taking another steaming spoonful.

"I mean I was in a car accident and when I woke up, I was here and not on the side of the road. The whole thing was strange."

Queen Lucy frowns, seeming to puzzle over this explanation.

"You don't remember walking through something? A door perhaps?"

Miranda shakes her head. "No. It was like waking up in a dream. A very good but very strange dream."

Queen Lucy glances at her abandoned soup for a moment, looks across the table at her brother, King Edmund, as if to ask his opinion.

"What else happened before you woke up?" King Edmund asks her in a voice much deeper than she was expecting.

"I was on my way to…" She's not about to mention her fraying mental state of the time, but how else to explain where she was going? "A doctor's appointment, and I was driving across town. Someone was a little close behind me, and next thing I knew the car was swerving and I blacked out."

"And you woke up in Narnia?" Queen Susan really says it more like a statement, since Miranda knows she's mentioned that several times.

Miranda nods through another mouthful of soup and chews on a bit of mushy carrot.

"That's right. Just outside Trufflehunter's cave."

"And Caspian was already inside, yes?" Queen Lucy asks, clearly trying to piece the whole peculiar thing together into something sensible.

"He was out cold. He came to soon after Trufflehunter and Nikabrik showed me inside though." Miranda feels a smirk sneak onto her face. "He wasn't exactly the model guest."

"Oh?" Queen Susan seems interested in this, and Miranda has to remind herself not to crack a joke about the flirting earlier in the afternoon.

"Anytime you start swinging a fire poker like a sword at one of your hosts, they're bound to be a little sour about it. And spilling soup never helps matters."

Miranda has no idea where this joking ease is coming from, but she decides that she likes the feeling it brings. Freedom.

The three royals all chuckle, which only boosts Miranda's mood. She rather likes them; she can almost forget they're, well, royal. They seem like mature fellow teens she can talk to normally. It probably helps that they're from her world.

"Is there anything else? I'm still a bit confused," Queen Lucy asks once the amusement dies down.

Miranda thinks that yes, there certainly is something else, mainly that sometimes she wakes up in the hospital. But can she tell them that? Is she ready to tell people she's only just met about that very personal aspect of her time here?

Queen Susan must pick up on her hesitation, because she gracefully changes the subject to how Miranda is liking Narnia.

"It's magic, I guess is the best way to put it." Miranda wants to add that it's safe, but that might provoke another question she's not quite ready to answer.

"Yes, it is." Queen Lucy smiles at her simple answer, and somehow that makes Miranda feel so much more at ease. They won't force her to answer anything she doesn't want to, she realizes.

She's lucky.

For the rest of dinner, the three royal siblings make small talk with Miranda, which she happily participates in. It feels relaxing, easy, to talk to people close to her own age. Even more so to talk to people from the same world as her. Give or take a few decades, as she soon finds out from King Edmund, but still.

That she can hold a conversation with King Edmund and not fall to nervous bits is a rather large source of pride for her. Miranda was sure she'd be uncomfortable at best, but he's not threatening in the least and doesn't elicit much of her attention anyway. He seems content to speak little and looks at her even less, not out of disgust but simply because, she thinks, he doesn't know her and he's perhaps a bit shy. It also helps that he's a bit younger than she is. After all, her demon was a bit older.

After they've all finished their soup and exhausted the small talk of their homes and Narnia and their favorite things to do on rainy days, the trio of them leave the cavern. (Queen Lucy has a propensity for hide and seek, apparently, and Queen Susan likes to put the time to good use with schoolwork. King Edmund prefers to nap, because he says the rain makes him sleepy.)

King Edmund peels off to speak to his older brother, High King Peter, and catch up on the strategy he inevitably was concocting during dinner with Prince Caspian and Glenstorm, but Queen Lucy and Queen Susan seem quite content to walk off dinner by strolling about the How with Miranda in between them.

Queen Lucy is still curious about Miranda's story, however, and asks her once more if anything odd has happened after her arrival in Narnia.

Funnily enough, Miranda feels just safe enough to tell the two of them, these Queens no older than she is, about the hospital. So she does, in minimal detail.

"It's only some nights, not many at all," she says, regarding how often it happens that she wakes up there and not in Narnia. "It seems random," she adds as an afterthought.

Both Queen Lucy and Queen Susan don't seem to know what to make of this new revelation. Miranda shrugs at their puzzled faces, because she isn't sure what to make of it either.

"I'm not sure what to think," Queen Lucy finally says, breaking the strange silence. "But Aslan wouldn't have brought you here if he didn't have a reason."

"What reason might that be?" Miranda is keenly aware of how skeptical she sounds, but she doesn't think it to be all that unreasonable. After all, it's a bit of a leap to think that a talking lion wants her here for some grander purpose than sheer accident. Then again, this whole Narnia thing is a bit of a leap in and of itself.

"Aslan might take his time in answering that," Queen Susan answers, a bit sadly if Miranda's reading her soft tone correctly.

"He's not been around as much this time," Queen Lucy explains. Well, sort of. The explanation only confuses Miranda more until it clicks that Queen Lucy must mean the last time to be the Pevensies' first trip to Narnia.

"I'm sorry," Miranda says, because she isn't sure what else to say.

The three walk along for a little while longer in a surprisingly comfortable silence until Miranda excuses herself on the pretense of going to bed early and catching up on sleep. The sister queens graciously excuse her and continue on as Miranda peels off.

As soon as they round a bend and she's out of eyesight, Miranda starts off in the opposite direction of her sleeping area. Rather, she heads straight for one of the ledges she stumbled upon one day while she was trying to find the armory on her own.

The sun is well set by now, and there's a chill in the new autumn air that puts goose-bumps on her arms. Miranda breathes a bit easier out here, where there's no one around and she doesn't have to hide quite so much. Out here, there's no one to hide from.

She only intends to stay out on the ledge, sitting on the sparse grass with her legs dangling over the edge, for a few minutes, but Miranda quickly finds that she doesn't have the wherewithal to get up. So she sits there quietly, basking in the cool air and reminding herself that she doesn't have to have quite so many masks up right now. If she wants to, she can just feel.

Sadly, Miranda isn't sure quite how to do that.

She stays out there for what must be several hours; the stars creep across the sky, wisps of clouds come and go, crickets chirp every now and then, the moon rises from the tips of the trees to being nestled among the stars. All is peaceful, but Miranda finds that inside, she is anything but. She can't pinpoint exactly why, nor does she wish to.

_'There never is a good time for dealing with all of this,'_ she thinks, twisting her fingers together like that'll help matters.

She's startled from her thoughts by soft footsteps on the ground behind her.

* * *

**I couldn't resist a small cliffhanger...:)**

**sarahwood - Remembering is definitely important, even if it's not the easiest thing in the world. You hit the nail on the head about there being just so much confusion, but at least Suncloud can help cut the tension just a little!**

**Review!**


	10. Arc 1: Tales of the Lion

**Another two weeks, another chapter. I apologize a little for last chapter's cliffy but I had to...hopefully this makes up for it ;)**

**Thank you so much to liz-04 for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Miranda whirls around to see a face she hasn't seen much of for a few days.

"Still can't sleep?" she teases the approaching prince with a gentle smile.

He grins just a little and takes a seat next to her. Heat from his body rolls off in waves and helps stave off the increasingly cold breezes.

"And apparently, neither can you."

They sit in silence for what could be minutes or hours before she finally asks him how he's been.

"Since the Kings and Queens arrived," she clarifies when he looks at her strangely. "It must have been a bit of a change."

He nods almost stiffly, as if this is a sore subject. But he seemed to get along with High King Peter just fine at dinner the few times she glanced his way.

"We have our differences."

He doesn't offer more on the subject, and she doesn't ask. More silence ensues, but this one doesn't feel so natural. This is more the kind of silence that falls when no one knows what to say, rather than their comfortable silences that don't need words.

This time, Prince Caspian is the one to break it.

"You asked me why I couldn't sleep back in the forest. May I now ask you the same?"

Now it's her turn to stiffen, but at the same time the invitation to speak her mind is refreshing and terrifying and exhilarating. Miranda takes an extra second to remind herself whom she's speaking to before answering.

"I feel out of place. Like I don't belong here, and I don't know what to do about that."

The prince waits, as if he knows there's more to it than that.

Miranda sorts her thoughts, or tries to, before continuing.

"And everyone seems to want to know exactly how I got here, but it's actually very personal and I don't like talking about it. I barely know anyone here. I can't decide whether it's okay to trust them after a few hours or even a few days." She only realizes she's curling up into herself when she finishes the last word and bumps her nose on her knees.

"No one would fault you for feeling so," Prince Caspian tells her. She gets the sense that if she weren't so flighty, he'd have put a comforting hand on her shoulder. To her surprise, she almost wishes he would.

Of course, she still doesn't like physical contact with strangers. Or with anyone, really. So she's just as glad he doesn't.

"I'd like to think that," she whispers, more to herself than to her nighttime friend.

"There is no need to speak of things you aren't ready to."

"My problem is that people keep asking," she explains. "It's exhausting." It is, but she never really realized it before saying it out loud.

She's not particularly traumatized by landing in an entirely new world, seeing as how a new world means a new start; she's just highly uncomfortable with how much her past seems to come up. If Aslan really did bring her here on purpose, a blank slate without so many questions would have been nice.

"If it helps, I believe they only do so because we're all confused as to why you're here."

It doesn't help, but Miranda isn't about to let Prince Caspian in on that.

"Trust me, I'm every bit as confused as the rest of you," she grinds out. She really didn't realize she's so peeved at all the questions, and she's starting to wish she had before opening her mouth and telling Prince Caspian all about it.

Prince Caspian doesn't seem to have a reply to that, so they return to a loaded silence. She stubbornly waits for him to break it again, both because she's still peeved in general and because she has no real inclination to say anything at the moment.

"Something terrible happened before you came to Narnia, didn't it?" Prince Caspian whispers after several long minutes of nothing.

Miranda's breath catches in her throat. Is she so easy to read? Is he going to start asking what it was or when it happened?

"Don't tell me you're going to start asking too," she says, trying to play off her nerves. She can't tell if it works or not.

There's just enough light from the half-moon for Miranda to see the prince shake his head.

"No. But I hope you feel at least a little safer here."

She does, but she doesn't want to admit it. After all, she's really only known Prince Caspian a few days, technically speaking. Never mind that it feels like it's been much longer than that.

"Thanks."

For the third time, the two fall back into silence. But this time, it's a little more natural than the previous two. Miranda almost breaks it to tell Prince Caspian that she missed their late night talks, but she quickly schools herself against it. That's not something she should say to someone she's only just starting to get to know.

They stay like that for some uncounted amount of time. Miranda stretches a kink from her back when she notices the sky starting to lighten from inky black to smoky gray.

"How do you train on so little sleep?"

Miranda turns to regard the prince still sitting next to her with one leg up against his chest and the other hanging off the ledge next to hers.

"I've been good previous nights. I just needed to take a break tonight."

He smiles just a little, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he glances her over.

"You needed a break from sleeping?"

"Yep." This is all she offers on the subject. Secretly, she wonders if a little of her cool tone isn't from being reminded of why she was so upset, that she never knows when she'll wake up in the hospital. More specifically, she never knows when she'll wake up and a snake from her past will be there waiting with open fangs.

Now if that isn't a melodramatic interpretation of the whole thing, Miranda does not know what is.

'_Stop_,' she berates herself. '_No need for that_.'

"I think I should return to my rocky corner," Prince Caspian says. Is that a note of regret she hears in his voice?

"Enjoy," she answers as he stands and dusts the dirt from his pants.

"You intend to stay up the rest of the night?"

"Technically," she corrects him with a smirk, "it's early morning."

He shakes his head as if he was expecting this from her.

"Good luck," he says in parting. And she thinks he really means it.

"You too."

When Miranda returns to her silent musings after he leaves, she finds that she's still smiling.

* * *

At breakfast, Suncloud quickly tracks her down and insists on sitting with her. Miranda rolls her eyes as she bites into her apple, but she's actually flattered. Suncloud is one of those fast friends she's very lucky to have.

Oddly enough, her night of no sleep has done wonders for her mood. She's not quite so tense as before, though she's certainly had better days. She almost feels ready for a day of firing arrows. In fact, she's just on her way to the armory when she runs into Queen Susan and exchanges pleasantries.

"Good morning," Miranda says with a smile as she reaches for the bow she used yesterday.

"'Morning," Queen Susan answers as she retrieves her own weapons.

Miranda's just scrabbling for something else to say when a blonde boy appears in the doorway. Instantly, she freezes and grips her quiver tightly in her hand. _He_ can't have gotten into Narnia, she knows that must be impossible, it's got to be impossible, right? The blonde boy is talking, and she almost doesn't care, but she figures that maybe it's a good idea to know what he's planning, so she forces her ears to open up and digest what he's saying.

"-this morning. We're meeting at the Table now," he finishes.

Queen Susan looks alarmed and takes off to follow him instantly.

"They're sure?" she says as she goes, each syllable getting quieter as she moves away.

"We wouldn't be meeting if they weren't."

Wait, he must be her brother. High King Peter, right? Yes, that's right. He does look familiar from his entrance into the How with his siblings.

Miranda's a bit soothed by that, but she still has no desire to get any closer. Blond spells trouble, she learned that. No reason to unlearn it, especially not now.

High King Peter and Queen Susan are almost out the door when Susan suddenly stops and beckons to Miranda.

"Come on, you'll want to know what's going on too," she says, waving Miranda toward her a second time.

Miranda does want to know what's going on, but she does not want to be any closer to the blonde brother, no matter who he is. He looks too similar to _him_.

But rather than admit all of this aloud, Miranda forces a nod. "I'll be right there, I'm just going to hang these back up." In truth, she's hoping to give the siblings a head start so she can keep her happy distance.

Unfortunately, Queen Susan is much too polite for that, so Miranda is forced to hurry instead of taking her time. She inches closer when she's done and tries not to look wary, even though she's waiting for the slightest move from High King Peter.

By the time she's beside Queen Susan, her heartbeat is roaring in her ears as she tries not to turn around, bolt back into the armory and hide among the metal.

The two siblings start walking again, mostly oblivious to her. Queen Susan remembers that Miranda and her brother haven't been introduced, and so Miranda has to fake a pleasant smile as she exchanges names and a handshake with High King Peter. The handshake alone makes everything in her vision swim.

"Sorry we didn't meet at dinner," he says as he gives her hand a quick but vigorous shake.

"Kings get busy," she answers, very much wishing he'd move back to the other side of Susan so she could stop having to remind herself that he'll let go of her hand.

He smiles briefly before he goes back to telling Queen Susan that a faun saw a Telmarine soldier this morning and they have to act fast because that soldier will bring an army with him when he returns.

An army? So soon? Miranda tries not to let on that her stomach is churning like a boiling pot at this point. An army? She's nowhere near ready to help fight an army, and she's gotten the sense that there are a fair amount of people in her same position. Not being ready for an army, that is.

Within a few tense minutes, they arrive at the Stone Table and High King Peter waits just a little while as the rest of the concerned Narnians file into the small space. Queen Susan goes toward the front of the room, following her brother. Miranda is inclined to stay towards the back so she can blend in with the crowd, but Queen Susan doesn't forget about her that easily. At her wave, Miranda finds herself shifting her way through the Narnians to stand with Queen Susan. Even if she doesn't like being towards the front, the queen's gesture warms her.

A low buzz fills the room as the arriving Narnians talk amongst themselves while they wait for the meeting to start. Queen Lucy arrives with King Edmund, though she seats herself on the Stone Table while her brother goes over to High King Peter, presumably to get the scoop. Well, if he doesn't already know.

Prince Caspian is here already, and he doesn't waste any time in striking up a conversation with Queen Susan and Miranda. For her part, Miranda lets Queen Susan do much of the talking. Strangely, Miranda isn't sure how to keep up a conversation with Prince Caspian when it's not the middle of the night.

At last, she's spared the pain of trying to come up with something to say when High King Peter starts the meeting with the news of a Telmarine soldier being spotted riding away by a guard faun.

"It's only a matter of time," High King Peter says, turning to look at every single person in the room. Miranda can't help but shrink back when his eyes scan over her section of the room. "Miraz's men and war machines are on their way," he continues.

Silence reigns as they all wait for anything else he might say.

"That means those same men aren't protecting his castle," the king finishes, looking almost grimly pleased with himself.

Prince Caspian has stood up at this point, as if he's ready for anything.

"What do you propose we do, Your Majesty?" asks Reepicheep the Talking Mouse.

Prince Caspian starts to speak at the same time High King Peter does, rendering both of their responses unintelligible. Miranda squirms a bit, the tension is so thick.

After a few highly uncomfortable moments, Prince Caspian dips his head in deference. For some reason, Miranda doesn't like seeing that.

"Our only hope is to strike them before they strike us," High King Peter posits, determination flashing in his eyes as they scan the room again.

"But that's crazy, no one has ever taken that castle!" Prince Caspian, needless to say, does not agree.

"There's always a first time," returns his opponent with a bit of an arrogant shrug.

Miranda risks a glance around the room from her seat beside Queen Susan. Many of the Narnians shift uncomfortably, looking between one leader and the other. One bold and oh so assured, and the other cautious and doubtful.

"We'll have the element of surprise," offers a blond dwarf Miranda hadn't noticed before.

"But we have the advantage here." Prince Caspian seems to know what he's doing, but then again so does High King Peter.

Miranda wonders if Prince Caspian's idea might be better, if High King Peter really knows the castle like the prince does. Didn't Prince Caspian grow up there?

Apparently, Queen Susan is thinking something similar.

"If we dig in, we could probably hold them off indefinitely," she offers, rising from her seat to stand behind Prince Caspian. He looks surprised at the support.

"I, for one, feel safer underground," Trufflehunter adds.

Miranda looks across the room to see how the High King is taking all of this. Instantly, she shivers at the displeasure plain on his face, creasing his forehead where it was smoother moments ago.

She's almost expecting things to get ugly; she tenses and holds her breath when the High King walks toward Prince Caspian.

"Look," he says, "I appreciate what you've done here. But this isn't a fortress, it's a tomb."

That was a good bit nicer than she was expecting, but the air is still uncomfortable.

"Yes, and if they're smart the Telmarines will just wait and starve us out," King Edmund says. He's one of the few, if not the only one, who stays seated as he makes his point.

"We could collect nuts?" chimes in a smaller-sounding voice. Miranda instantly decides she likes this idea the best. She thinks she can handle gathering nuts.

"-and throw them at the Telmarines!" Reepicheep answers, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Shut up."

Now that wasn't very nice. The poor squirrel (it is a squirrel, isn't it? High King Peter is blocking a lot of her view) shrinks back a little and twitches its fluffy brown tail in what Miranda guesses to be embarrassment. She feels sorry for the poor creature, voicing its thoughts in a room full of warriors.

"I think you know where I stand, Sire," the mouse finishes, perking up visibly just at the thought of a good battle.

No one says anything for a few moments. High King Peter takes the opportunity to slowly walk toward Glenstorm, who's stood by solemnly observing the whole disagreement.

"If I get your troops in," the king asks, "can you handle the guards?"

Glenstorm looks right at Prince Caspian first, almost as if he's apologizing for what he's about to say. Miranda can't see the prince's face, but she doesn't miss the slight hunch in his shoulders.

"Or die trying, my Liege," the centaur general finally answers, bowing his head in acceptance of the task.

Miranda feels her gut twist at that, though she doesn't know him very well at all. She supposes it simply hasn't hit her before now that war means death, and death can touch anyone she knows here equally as harshly.

"That's what I'm worried about."

Finally, a point of view Miranda can really get behind other than gathering nuts.

Everyone turns to look at Queen Lucy in confusion.

"Sorry?" her oldest brother says, looking dangerously perplexed.

"Well you're all acting like there's only two options: dying here, or dying there," she explains, patient as anything. Miranda wants to applaud.

"I'm not sure you've really been listening, Lu." King Peter cuts his little sister off with a frustrated frown. He doesn't seem to take too kindly to being questioned.

"No you're not listening!" Miranda's surprised to hear the young queen raise her voice. "Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter?"

King Peter still looks less than pleased at the opposition, even coming from his little sister. "I think we've waited for Aslan long enough," he says coldly, turning and walking from the room like that's the end of it.

Miranda can barely breathe with all the tension in the room. Queen Lucy watches her brother go, clearly unhappy with his attitude.

Well, he did have a bit of sass to him. Arrogance she was expecting from a High King, but she wasn't ready for the sass. How do his siblings live with him day in and day out?

Her thoughts slightly amuse her, but she schools her face to show none of it. The mood is so somber that even a half-grin would be highly inappropriate.

Are all of them going to the Telmarine castle? Is she?

Can she?

Miranda personally doesn't think she's battle-ready, though that could be her terror talking. She remembers all too well how miserably she failed at close combat. The proximity alone set her head spinning with all the possible worst case scenarios, no matter how unlikely. Well, who knew what to expect from honest to goodness Telmarine soldiers? Prince Caspian was kind, but from what she's heard he's the exception.

Heavens help her, she really really _really_ doesn't want to march headlong into a strange castle filled with those soldiers. She also hasn't forgotten her part in stealing weapons, and how easily the soldiers thought of terrible things to do.

Everyone else in the room seems as much at a loss as she is. Some mill about, some trickle out, some talk with their friends with worry pinching their faces. No one, she notices, goes and talks to Queen Lucy. Now, whether this is because they're all somewhat occupied or because she doesn't seem like she particularly wants to talk to anyone or because they wouldn't know what to say if they did approach the youngest queen, she's not sure. But since Prince Caspian and Queen Susan are deep in conversation with Trufflehunter and she doesn't want to interrupt, Miranda makes her way over to Queen Lucy.

"For what it's worth, you've got a good point," she says as soon as she's close enough that others won't hear if they're not listening.

"Peter is determined to prove himself, I'm afraid. Leading a raid is his idea of doing just that." Queen Lucy looks far too grim for someone so young. Miranda has a bit of trouble reconciling this troubled queen with the bouncing and friendly girl she met just the other day.

"I'm sorry," Miranda says, even though she knows it won't make any of it better.

"So am I."

"Do you want company?" Miranda expects Queen Lucy to shake her head, but instead her question is met with a smile.

"Yes, I'd like that."

Queen Lucy pats a space on the Stone Table next to her. Somewhat surprised, Miranda scoots up next to the queen and tries to come up with something else to say.

"Are you going with them?" Queen Lucy asks before she has a chance to think of something.

Shrugging, Miranda answers, "I don't know. I don't think I'd be much help, honestly."

"You can stay here with me, if you like. No one can force you to go." Queen Lucy sounds as kind as always, and the words are more than just a little relieving to Miranda.

"I think I'd only be in the way if I did go," Miranda admits.

Queen Lucy nods, understanding smoothing her face. "Perhaps while we're here, we can get to know each other a bit better."

"The distraction would be good," Miranda agrees.

For more than one reason.

* * *

Mere hours later, everyone is getting ready to leave for the raid. King Peter is determined to get it done tonight, and somehow the preparations pulled through.

Never mind that there were certainly a fair number of Narnians who weren't even close to battle-ready.

Miranda stands with Queen Lucy, looking out into the sunset as the armor-clad Narnians file by, weapons in hand for some and sheathed for the rest. King Peter stands in the middle of the whole thing, with one hand resting on the sword strapped around his hip.

Prince Caspian glances over at Miranda as he goes to join the party. Her heart does a funny little skip when she notices his gaze, but on the outside she just smiles a worried sort of smile and gives a tiny wave.

She tries not to think about the possibility that he might not come back. That Nartus might not, or Urothorn, or any of her new friends. They could all die on the steps of a strange castle she's never seen before.

From the looks of it, Queen Lucy is thinking exactly the same thing. She doesn't look at her brother, standing so unmovable under the stone archway with his hand on his sword. After a little while, she moves away from her place at one of the stone pillars, fixes her brother with a disapproving stare, and walks back toward the How. Miranda follows her, already eager for morning a few days from then. Maybe not everyone will die.

Maybe.

* * *

Back inside the How, Queen Lucy still seems upset enough to walk along in silence. Miranda almost points out that she didn't eat dinner, but decides that of all things Queen Lucy might want to hear, missing dinner is certainly not one of them.

The silence grows until Miranda truly can't stand it anymore.

"I think I should get in some archery practice," she finally says as she keeps stride with the unhappy queen beside her. "Feel like joining me?"

Queen Lucy shakes her head.

"You go ahead. I think some time at the Stone Table will do me good."

Miranda almost tells Queen Lucy to come with her, but she quickly understands that particular idea is not her best. Queen Lucy probably could use time to process this whole disaster, just like Miranda could use some time to stop thinking so much. So she leaves the queen to her thoughts and heads outside to work on the one thing she might be good at someday.

Loosing arrow after arrow is soothing in a way she wasn't expecting; the rhythmic thwangs help her to only worry if she hit the target or not. She barely thinks about the raid, except when she's thinking about not thinking about it.

Instead of the raid, she lets herself wonder about how she got here, what it might mean, and what more, if anything, she's willing to share. They know she was on her way to a doctor's appointment, that she got in a car accident, that she woke up in Narnia. What they don't know is what kind of doctor's appointment, or why she crashed, or, most importantly, her exact state in the hospital. She knows it isn't good, if only from the many monitors she finds herself hooked up to and the dull aches everywhere on her body when she wakes. The occasional sharp pains come and go too, whether as leftovers from the surgery or from healing bones, she isn't sure. But she thinks she's been in that blasted hospital for at least a week or so. She doesn't think they'd keep her for a week over broken bones.

But what she does know is that she's in no rush to return. She doesn't want to wake up to see that evil thing in her room with a hand over her mouth telling her not to scream. She doesn't know if she could handle that again, doesn't know how much farther that would set her back.

She lets another string of arrows fly to get her mind off of that particular topic. Maybe it's better to wonder why she's here. Yes, that's probably a safer topic.

She has no idea.

Maybe when she gets the chance, she should ask Queen Lucy about Aslan. She seemed to think he had a reason for her being here, so that might be someplace to start.

_Twang_ goes another arrow, this time on target. Well, on the edge, but still, it's a start. Maybe if the raid goes terribly and Miranda does have to fight in a battle, she can just stay with the archers, away from the heat of it. She really doesn't think she'd be any use down on the ground anyway.

After an hour or two, Miranda tires of her practice. More specifically, it's her arms that tire of the constant activity. Apparently, breaking to retrieve her arrows from the woods and the target and, most often, the surrounding trees, does not keep the sore stiffness from her limbs. She gathers her equipment starts off to return it to the armory.

The whole way, she wonders how close to the castle the Narnians are. Even though she knows there's nothing to be done.

* * *

"Would you mind telling me a bit more about Aslan?" Miranda asks Queen Lucy over their soup dinner that night.

This seems to perk the young queen up considerably; she smiles and agrees with an enthusiasm Miranda hasn't seen from her since before the meeting about the raid.

"He's...well, the first thing you should know is that he's not a tame lion, but he's very good. You know the story of the Stone Table?"

"I heard it, but I'm not sure if I remember it correctly," Miranda admits sheepishly, stirring her soup to distract herself from her slight embarrassment.

"That's alright, you probably heard a lot of things rather quickly. In any case, my brother, Edmund, had gone to the White Witch and Aslan had to send a small party to rescue him. They succeeded, but the Witch came back demanding Edmund's blood. Every traitor belonged to her by Narnia's ancient law, and technically that did include Edmund."

Queen Lucy's voice catches toward the end, understandably so. Miranda can't imagine what it must have been like to have a witch demanding one's brother's head. Or blood. But Queen Lucy straightens her shoulders and continues the tale.

"She wasn't backing down, you see, so Aslan struck a deal. His life for Edmund's."

Miranda's completely forgotten her soup by now, awed and touched at the idea of Aslan, the leader of Narnia at the time, offering himself for a child who'd sort of betrayed him.

"And so that night Aslan went to the Stone Table and the Witch killed him."

"The same Stone Table here?" Miranda asks. It really is different hearing the tale from someone who was so close to it.

Queen Lucy nods. "Yes. Susan and I saw the whole thing, from up in the woods. We spent the night with him, and when morning came the Table broke and there he was, standing tall and proud and whole as if nothing had ever happened."

Hearing the watery edge to the young queen's tone, Miranda pats her hand somewhat awkwardly, hoping to comfort her. She almost forgot that Queen Susan and Queen Lucy had been there.

"That's quite the tale," she says, wishing she could think of something better to say.

Queen Lucy nods as if this makes perfect sense.

"Yes, it is. But Aslan himself is quite a tale."

Miranda sits on this, thinks for a bit.

"You really think he has a purpose in mind for me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. He had a purpose for me."

Miranda remains skeptical, but she feels guilty for asking and failing to be convinced, so she nods like she gets it.

"Don't worry, you'll meet him sometime. His time can just be a little different from ours."

Frowning a bit in confusion, Miranda wonders if it's okay that she doesn't understand and she's a bit put off.

Somehow she gets the feeling that this sort of reaction isn't wholly unusual. So she stows it away for later and redirects Queen Lucy's attention to small talk, mainly asking her to recall stories from the Golden Age, as Narnia called it when the four siblings ruled the land.

She listens, but she can't quite shake her worry over the raid.

Maybe she shouldn't be so very worried, but then again, maybe it's alright to worry over people she's is fond of, no matter how short a time she's known them.

* * *

**So we have her beginning to care about these people...good things :)**

**Review!**


	11. Arc 1: Just More

**Chapter ten already! I've gotten a lot of writing done on this story for Camp NaNoWriMo so hopefully we're looking at steady updates from here on out. I'm excited, personally :D**

**Thanks so much to rosegold1996 for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The days after the Narnians have left for the raid flow by surprisingly easily for Miranda. She practices with the bow as many hours a day as her arms can stand and gets to know Queen Lucy fairly well. In fact, she's been asked once again by the queen to simply call her Lucy, so she tries to remember to do that as well. All in all, the days are rather peaceful, if she forgets why the How is emptied. They do get lonely, and that's when she worries, but she tries to remember that she's still not sure this entire thing isn't a dream.

Dreams don't feel this real, she knows. And they don't last this long. Not even if she can manage to keep up her pattern of barely three hours of sleep each night.

She tries to forget that when she notices how empty the How is with so many away at war.

And then the day comes when she and Lucy are sitting on the Stone Table's steps and the horn announcing the Narnians' return sounds. Lucy immediately puts away the fireflower potion she's been fiddling with the past half-hour and runs to go and see the returners, but Miranda takes her time. She's more nervous now than before that there will be too many faces missing.

But then, what else is one to expect in a war?

She forces herself to pick up her pace from a steady walk to a hesitant jog, and before she can quite fully prepare, she's out in the early morning sunlight and trying to understand where everyone is.

That can't be all of them.

Vaguely, she hears Lucy asking "What happened?" and she almost seconds the query. But King Peter is striding toward them with a face pinched in sorrow and anger, and it's the anger that frightens her.

"Ask him," the blond king says, turning his head back to indicate Prince Caspian, who's walking with his head a little down next to him.

Queen Susan doesn't approve of this; she tries to talk her brother down with a gentle "Peter," but before she can finish whatever she was going to say, Prince Caspian chimes in with a voice that's heavy and filled with hurt.

"Me? You could have called it off, there was still time."

Technically, Miranda knows it's two leaders fighting, but at the moment it feels like it's just two boys – or young men, she can't decide which – arguing about who's right. She knows it must be more, that it is more because of their responsibilities, and she feels awful for thinking so.

"No there wasn't, thanks to you," King Peter counters bitterly. "If you'd kept to the plan, those soldiers might be alive right now."

So this truly is everyone? More than half of the Narnians who went on the raid aren't there.

What did happen?

"And if we'd just stayed here like I suggested they definitely would be!" Prince Caspian is the first to raise his voice, and Miranda thinks that they must obviously have different ways of dealing with the loss.

"You called us, remember?"

A deadly sort of calm descends.

"My first mistake," Prince Caspian says, cold anger burning in his face.

"No!" King Peter almost sounds like he's trying to laugh. Almost. "You're first mistake was thinking you could lead these people." And with that, the High King tries to walk away, but a startling yell from the prince he's just horribly insulted stops him and turns him back around.

"I am not the one who abandoned Narnia."

Miranda doesn't want to watch this anymore, doesn't want to see the two of them going at it when they're both just lashing out in pain. It frightens her and worries her, and she's already trying to make sense of just how at least half of the army they left with is dead and gone. These two leaders must feel the loss immeasurably, and their words are only worsening each other's pain.

"You invaded Narnia; you have no more right to lead it than Miraz does!"

And there it is, more hurtful things that neither of them will be able to take back.

Miranda stays where she is, both because no one else has moved an inch since the fight started and because she can see the agony Prince Caspian is trying so very hard to hide as he shoves King Peter aside and marches toward the How.

"You, him, your father!"

Prince Caspian stops in his tracks, face going blank. A little bit of Miranda wants to go and pull him away from all these ugly words, but she doesn't know him well enough to feel safe doing that. And it wouldn't help anyways, because King Peter just keeps going.

"Narnia's better off without the lot of you!" the High King spits, face twisted and unsightly.

There's nothing anyone can do now.

With a battle cry that screams of hurt and promises revenge, Prince Caspian draws his sword and points it straight at King Peter. In the same moment, King Peter draws his, and the two of them stand there for long moments before King Edmund yells at them to stop from his place a ways behind. He's tending to the blond dwarf, Trumpkin, who supported the raid when King Peter proposed it.

Lucy runs forward, fireflower cordial already in hand, to help her friend. Her DLF, as she told Miranda in the days they spent together telling stories. The two leaders have to lower their swords to let her through. They do it slowly, like they're pained to have to do so.

While King Peter's attention turns to his youngest sister tending her DLF who looks to be in pretty poor shape, Prince Caspian sheathes his sword and continues on into the How, passing Miranda as he goes.

She almost reaches out to him, but thinks better of it when she sees his face up close. He's not looking for any outside comfort right now; he's angry, and she isn't sure how she'd work with that anyway. So she lets him go after promising herself she'll make a point of talking to him later. Not that she can do much, but maybe she can do just a little something. Their late night talks have seemed to relax him before.

Or she can let him cool down for a bit and then try her best to figure out how to talk to him in the daylight.

In the mean time, she scoots around King Peter and goes to Lucy to ask if she needs help with anything. She gets there just in time to hear Trumpkin grumbling about the Telmarines getting there "soon enough" and then thanking his "dear little friend."

Lucy smiles and so does Queen Susan, and from there Lucy goes looking at the rest of the returners, fixing wounds when needed.

Miranda almost asks Queen Susan to tell her what happened, but she doesn't want to bring up any more bad blood even though she's getting morbidly curious. Instead, she looks for her friends.

Urothorn is currently being tended by Lucy for an ugly gash in his side, Nartus is nowhere to be found, and Suncloud is standing a little ways behind his father, looking at the ground. Miranda looks over and sees Glenstorm crossing an arm over his chest, everything about him sad and sorry. Windmane is crying, turning her head to the side.

Suncloud lost a brother at the castle, she can gather that much. She can't see Rainstone anywhere.

What should she do? What _can_ she do, really?

Suncloud glances up, notices her staring. He meets her eyes for a long moment before looking back to the ground. Unless she's reading him wrong, he doesn't want to talk right now.

She doesn't blame him; he needs to grieve with his family. She'd want the same in his place.

Miranda checks with Lucy and makes sure her help, meager as it is, isn't needed or wanted before heading back inside the How. After a few minutes of wandering indecision, she settles on practicing archery again. She might as well be as useful as she can be, and right now that looks like preparing for the next battle as best she can.

The thwang and thud of arrows isn't as soothing as it used to be. But she barely knows them, has only met a few of them, doesn't even quite fit here. This could still, maybe, just be one grand dream brought on by hospital medications.

So why can she not stop thinking about Nartus and Suncloud's brother that she didn't even know and Prince Caspian fighting with King Peter? Shouldn't she be worrying about the next time she falls asleep and wakes up in the hospital? Shouldn't she be planning how to defend herself when she wakes up and _he's_ there and no one else can help her?

But she isn't, and she isn't sure what to make of that. Surely she doesn't care so deeply for this place, these people she's barely spoken to after so short a time? She hasn't yet seen fit to trust them with many of her secrets, and yet she feels a heavy, sticky sort of feeling in her heart that makes her want to just lay down and not do anything for a while.

She's grieving, for people she hasn't even decided to trust yet?

Strange.

Maybe this thought is what has her putting away her bow and quiver and walking to find Prince Caspian.

There may not be much she can do, but maybe she can help him, like they help each other during those late nights. If he even wants it. But better to offer it anyway, right?

So Miranda wanders through the How, looking for her nighttime friend, wondering the whole time if this really is the best idea. But if it was the other way around, she might appreciate at least the thought. She plugs on, even though her stomach does funny little summersaults as she goes. And at length, she finds him, staring at the wall in the tunnel that leads to the Stone Table.

"Want some company?" Her voice comes out timid and almost squeaky, the exact opposite of what she was going for.

He doesn't react. It's like he can't even hear her, like he's about to just melt into the wall and become part of the mural.

Maybe if she can see what he's looking at, she can guess what he's thinking. Well, he just fought with King Peter, she's pretty sure that's on his mind. But there's also something more, some fresh new pain that was in his eyes as he arrived. A pain that hadn't been there before, and a pain that sparked to violent life at King Peter's insults. Insults about him, Miraz, and his father. So something with Miraz or his father?

She leans forward just a little, sees that the mural is of the Kings and Queens crowned on their thrones at Cair Paravel. So it is about the fight, or maybe the two things are caught up together. King Peter did sort of press the issue.

Does he want her to leave?

She's not getting any feedback one way or another, and it's feeling increasingly uncomfortable, so she starts to step back and away. He tenses.

Miranda isn't sure what to do. She still feels a bit unwelcome, but he seems to want her here, even if only a little. He leans back just the tiniest hair.

She stays.

Neither one of them says anything, but she stays. Prince Caspian still stares at the mural, still practically ignores that she's even there, but she tries not to mind too much. After all, he's had a rather rough few days.

"I know you aren't in a talking sort of mood right now, but if you ever are and you can't sleep...you know. I'll be there." Miranda is painfully aware of how awkward she sounds, how unsurely the words come out of her mouth. She kind of hopes Prince Caspian doesn't notice, but it's not horribly important if he does.

He nods once, eyes never leaving the wall. Does he still want her to stay?

Miranda really isn't very good at this. If only she knew him better, had known him longer, she'd have a better idea of what to say, of how to soothe at least some of his pain. But she doesn't, and she can't shake this feeling that whatever she's trying to do is nowhere near enough.

On an impulse, she decides to blurt something out.

"I'm sorry about what King Peter said."

Prince Caspian's shoulders tense again, but they relax after a moment. His entire posture relaxes, if only a little. But it's more than before. And when he finally speaks, his voice is rough and low, like he's been holding back angry tears for a while.

"Thank you."

He doesn't say anything more, doesn't invite any further conversation, but Miranda gets the sense that maybe, perhaps, he's feeling a tiny bit better. However, he might still want to be alone.

So she leaves him to his thoughts and reminds him one more time that she's here if he ever wants a listening ear, or even a shoulder. He turns toward her as she starts to walk away, his eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment. The storm in his almost makes her breath catch in her throat, and she wants nothing more than to take away that hurt.

But she doesn't know him that well.

So she smiles a sad, comforting sort of smile and continues on, pleased to at least have been a teeny tiny bit of help.

Miranda turns a corner, is about to walk through the makeshift armory, but she hears a nasty sounding voice echoing back down the tunnel. She hesitates, sure it can't be something too nasty because there are only Narnians here and they're not bad from what she's seen. Then she remembers the agony swirling in Prince Caspian's eyes and turns back around. If someone is taunting him, by heaven she won't have it.

She doesn't have time to wonder where such a fierce reaction same from; she's placing her feet as carefully as she can without being slow about it. Another voice that sounds like Prince Caspian's floats through the tunnel into her ears, making her pause. He sounds angry still, but she can't tell if it's in general or in response to this new visitor. She continues on.

"-blood? So do _we_," she hears as she approaches, now only a bend away from the two.

Nikabrik? Is that Nikabrik?

"You want his throne? _We_ can get it for you."

That is most certainly Nikabrik, but what "we" is he talking about?

She peeks around the bend. Her gut is telling her to stay quiet, to not make her presence known just yet. She doesn't, but she sees the chronically grumpy dwarf ambling deeper into the tunnel with Prince Caspian looking after him. The prince hesitates, as if he's unsure, before following Nikabrik. And Miranda follows them.

Nikabrik leads Prince Caspian to the Stone Table, discussing ancient powers, if she's hearing this correctly.

"You tried one ancient power, it failed. But there is a power greater still; one that kept even Aslan at bay for near a hundred years."

Nikabrik walks Prince Caspian around the edge of the room until they're in front of the wall carving of Aslan, facing the Stone Table. Miranda quickly slips back further into the tunnel and around a bend to avoid being seen.

Moments later, a low growl sounds from the darkest corner of the room. Miranda could swear the hair on the back of her head stands on end. A cold pit of fear quickly forms in her stomach, but she peeks back out cautiously. How is Prince Caspian taking this new development?

Her risk shows that he's unnerved too; he draws his sword, gets down the three steps, and stands _en guarde_.

"Who's there?" he demands, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

"I am hunger," comes the raspy growl as two creatures covered in cloaks blacker than midnight scoot toward him.

"I am thirst," the one on Miranda's left continues. She swears her heart is ready to beat itself out of her chest. Cold sweat makes her hands slip on the stone walls around her.

"I can fast for a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze." Cue another snarl. "I can drink a river of blood and not burst. Show. Me. Your enemies!" A final growl that's worse than all the others finishes the theatric introduction, but Miranda is shaking like a leaf as it is.

The instant another creepy voice, dry and a bit whiny, whips through the air, she's gone.

She's barely thinking of being quiet, but she manages to hurry along the tunnel without anyone hearing, at least she thinks so. And when she's sure she's out of earshot, she breaks into a full-out run, heart pounding in her ears as she tries to banish the raspy voice from her mind.

What to do, what to do...she has to do something; she can't leave Prince Caspian in there with those things!

Oh god. She left Prince Caspian in there alone.

Panic rises in her chest, clawing at her pounding heart. She's got to help him, somehow, but what good is she against a wolf and a dwarf and whatever that other cloaked thing was? She isn't sure she can help him at all.

But maybe someone else can. The Kings and Queens?

Miranda wishes she knew them a little better, but she can't really complain of that now, not when her friend is alone in a room with three creatures that clearly don't mean well at all.

She bursts out of the tunnel and asks the first person she sees where the Kings and Queens are.

"Please, it's very important!" she pants, out of breath from her frantic sprint.

The Minotaur thinks he last saw them near the training grounds, or at least on their way there. Miranda thanks him and takes off once more.

"Is everything alright?" he calls after her.

What a silly question.

She shouts a thank you over her shoulder and doesn't reply. She doesn't have time; or rather, Prince Caspian doesn't.

Sure enough, she finds the monarchs en route to the grounds. With a yell, she stops them in their tracks.

"Miranda? What on earth's the matter?" Queen Susan asks, looking quite concerned.

"It's Prince Caspian, I think he's in trouble!" she gasps out.

"Trouble?" Lucy asks, looking a bit confused.

"Stone Table, go!" Miranda vaguely thinks that she sounds almost unintelligible, but they seem to get the message; the two kings take off at a run with Lucy close behind them. Queen Susan, however, stays with Miranda as she catches her breath.

"What happened?"

Miranda gets her breath back as quickly as she can and explains the whole thing: seeking him out to see if he was alright, hearing Nikabrik, following them down the tunnel and hearing the raspy voice and fleeing like the devil itself was at her heels. Because for all she knew, it was.

And that's all they say, because as soon as Miranda can breathe properly again, she takes off running for the Stone Table again, Queen Susan right on her heels.

They get to the tunnel in record time. Miranda wants to keep going, even though her lungs are practically screaming in protest and she might be weaving side to side. But Queen Susan slows to a brisk walk and insists she do the same.

"But-"

"Peter, Ed, and Lu are taking care of it, you can afford to walk the rest of the way," the queen tells her firmly.

Miranda almost says something to the effect of she already has a mother, thanks very much, but Queen Susan is a friend and she isn't sure she'd appreciate the sour sass.

All the same, the walk there seems to take ages, ages Miranda is still afraid Prince Caspian can't afford.

But wasn't the whole point of getting the Kings and Queens precisely this? So they could help him because she didn't think she could?

Queen Susan seems to understand that she's still anxious, and Miranda almost thanks her when she picks up the pace. She only doesn't because she's listening for the sounds of a struggle.

At first, there seems to be just that; muffled sounds of swords and yelling travels down the tunnel, but it stops with a particularly loud shout that has Miranda sprinting down the last stretch of the tunnel with her heart in her throat. She doesn't stop to wonder why.

When she rounds the bend, she sees the signs of a skirmish. Nikabrik is lying motionless to the left of the Stone Table, Lucy's standing behind Trumpkin, both of them staring at the archway that frames Aslan's wall carving. That archway is covered in a thick sheet of ice that blocks the Lion's image.

But the most fantastic and terrifying part is the ghastly wraith-like figure that's floating behind the ice, holding her hand out to King Peter. King Peter, who is lowering his sword.

Miranda skids to a stop as silently as she can and frantically scans the area for Prince Caspian. Vaguely, she hears Queen Susan walk in behind her.

There he is, on the ground as if he was thrown there, watching the exchange between King Peter and the ghostly woman behind the ice with wide eyes.

With a start, Miranda remembers her crash history lesson from Suncloud.

"The White Witch?" she mouths to Queen Susan, who's now standing just behind her. Her suspicion is confirmed by a nod.

And suddenly, the hand withdraws and the ice cracks haphazardly; the tip of a sword pokes out the front of the ice glass. Prince Caspian gets to his feet, watching as if entranced by the whole thing.

The Witch throws her head back as her icy prison continues to crack and fissure, and for a moment everything is still and quiet. And then, with a deafening crash and an inhuman scream, the ice suddenly shatters into a shower of shards, exploding outward toward King Peter and Prince Caspian.

Miranda ducks on a reflex, even though the ice doesn't come anywhere near her. Queen Susan, on the other hand, stays perfectly still and observes the scene.

King Edmund lowers his sword once the ice finishes falling, the remnants of it already starting to melt. He turns to his older brother and says something Miranda can't quite make out, but he doesn't sound pleased. He walks off after finishing, his face tight and pinched.

King Peter and Prince Caspian stare straight ahead for a moment, at the mural of Aslan that the Witch covered. And then they turn around and see their sister staring at them, looking as displeased as King Edmund.

Miranda is keenly aware that she is also in their line of sight, and so she quickly melts into the shadows, hoping their gaze won't follow. She hates being stared at; it makes her skin crawl.

Queen Susan, on the other hand, glares at them, not saying anything because she knows she doesn't have to. For his part, Prince Caspian looks sorry and sad, eyes soft as he tries to apologize without words to the Queen of Old. But there's a question in his eyes also, asking how they knew to come and help.

Queen Susan looks to the side, first at King Edmund, and then to Miranda, who shrinks back even more, hoping the shadows cast by the firelight keep her face hidden from the young men. King Peter holds his sister's gaze but Prince Caspian looks over to her.

Oddly, guilt floods her, like it wasn't her place to intrude. But if she hadn't, wouldn't they have had a Witch on their hands? Not that she knew that when she went. On that subject, where are the two cloaked figures?

Miranda scans the room from her corner, moving aside so King Edmund can get past her as he heads for the tunnel when necessary. Ah, there is one, curled up at a corner of the Stone Table. And there is the other, a furry wolf-like thing, snarling even in death with its blood pooled on the dirt ground.

Was that the one who could fast for a hundred years and still live?

And yet a sword could conquer him in less than an hour.

Miranda feels horrid for thinking that, but she thinks the creature maybe deserved his end, bloodthirsty thing that it was. Who in their right mind would even talk about drinking a river of blood anyway?

Lost in her thoughts, Miranda almost misses Queen Susan's exit, close after King Edmund's. Miranda wonders if she ought to leave too.

Trumpkin and Lucy are mourning Nikabrik, and Prince Caspian and King Peter seem to be having a moment of understanding. Her place is not here.

She turns to go, sneaking a quick glance back at Prince Caspian before she completely turns to the tunnel, just to make sure he's alright. And she finds that he is, and her job was only to make sure everything was okay. Now it is and her role is done.

She's taken her first steps toward the tunnel when someone clears their throat. Her heart picks up speed; she hates drawing attention to herself, she really really does. But the polite thing to do is to turn around and acknowledge whoever that was. So that's what Miranda does - the polite thing.

As it turns out, it was King Peter who interrupted her hasty exit.

"May I have a word?" he asks, beckoning to her with a steady hand.

She is keenly aware that she does not want to go, but the polite thing is to go.

At the moment, she hates the polite thing.

Miranda grits her teeth and goes anyway, even though she trembles just a bit. She still barely knows King Peter, and he reminds her of _him_ and she's been enjoying not thinking about _him_ lately.

And yet, as she walks toward King Peter, that seems to be almost all she can think of. By the time she reaches him, she's biting her tongue to keep her teeth from chattering.

King Peter beckons to her again and walks toward the side of the room. Prince Caspian leaves then, and Trumpkin sees to Nikabrik's body. Lucy helps him, and soon Miranda finds that King Peter and herself are left alone in the room, with firelight the only thing to hide her. It's unhelpful.

"I wanted to thank you," King Peter says after a few awkward moments of sitting on the ruins of a pillar.

"For what?" Miranda thinks she knows, but what she can't quite grasp is why the High King felt the need to thank her for it.

"For coming and getting us, to help Caspian." Long moments pass, and Miranda waits for King Peter to say something else, because she isn't sure how to respond to that. "How did you know what was going on?" he continues.

Finally, something she can answer.

Miranda has to swallow her nerves before speaking, but she manages to get the words out with no shake in her voice. "I went to see if he was okay after… after…"

What's the polite way to say that she went to see if he was okay after he and King Peter were ready to kill each other?

"After we fought?" King Peter offers.

Miranda seizes on this and nods gratefully. "Yes, that. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do. Anyway, he wasn't really ready to talk about it, so I was leaving when I heard Nikabrik suggest another ancient power. I probably shouldn't have followed them, but I did, and once I heard the wolf talking I knew Prince Caspian was in danger, so I came to find you guys."

At once, Miranda realizes she might sound slightly accusatory of King Peter's actions regarding that particular fight.

Should she apologize, or just wait?

"You did the right thing, and I think we're all very glad you warned us." King Peter doesn't actually sound angry at all, or even very threatening.

"Well, witches running around are never a good thing," she offers, shrugging like it wasn't as big a deal as it was.

To her surprise, King Peter grins. "Naturally not."

After that, Miranda isn't sure what else there is to talk about, and so she isn't so surprised when an awkward silence descends.

"How are you finding Narnia?"

The innocent question catches her off-guard, prepared as she was to make a quick and barely polite exit.

"It's very different. Not in a bad way, just…different." Miranda doesn't want to admit that she actually likes it quite a bit better, even though there's a war going on and it's an unfamiliar place. It's safer than home, but if she can barely admit that to herself, how on earth is she supposed to say something like that aloud to someone else?

"It is different," the king agrees. "But it's more…more…"

"Just more?" Miranda isn't sure if that's what he was trying to say, but it makes sense. In a lot of ways, Narnia is just a bit _more_.

"Yes, that exactly." King Peter smiles at her, and some of her fear skitters away. He doesn't seem so bad when he's not trying so hard.

And she doesn't see why it's not a good idea to end the conversation on a good note, so she gracefully does just that and leaves the King Peter to his thoughts. Heaven knows he has plenty to think about.

* * *

**I posted this chapter before I realized I was going to update every two weeks, so hope you guys enjoyed the early update :)**

**Review!**


	12. Arc 1: Hearing the Truth

**I can't ****think of much to say for these chapter's notes, so I'll just get right to it :) Thank you to rosegold1996 for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

That night, Miranda sleeps fitfully. She tries for a few hours to force herself to nod off, but it's no use and she soon takes to her usual routine of going outside to a ledge and watching the clouds float across the moon.

She's alone, to her slight surprise. Even though Prince Caspian had only come out to join her once since arriving at the How, she somehow thought that their old routine would begin again. Apparently not.

But then, he does have a lot on his mind, and maybe he's finally exhausted enough to sleep through the night. She hopes so.

Her own mind is surprisingly blank tonight, in spite of the day's many events. The return from the unsuccessful raid and the almost-raising of the Witch have given her plenty of food for thought, but it seems there are no thoughts to be had tonight, only a vague sense of unease.

She curls up on the damp grass and stares up at the sky like it has the answers for her. Miranda very much wishes something would give her answers. Answers to questions like what she's actually doing here and why she still can't feel completely safe and why she can't shake this nagging feeling that something is very wrong. A lot of things are wrong, obviously, being in the middle of a war, but it's more than that.

It's about home.

And Miranda's trouble is exactly that; she doesn't want to think of home, because home is where terrible things happened that she still can't shake. Just thinking of what happened has her trembling like she's in the middle of it again, has her palms covered in a cold and slippery sweat that feels gross and out of place. It happened some time ago, a few months at least, and she'd somehow forgotten all about it until a few weeks ago, and now it won't leave her be.

Well, in her defense, she did have quite the unwelcome visitor the last time she woke up at home. In that horrid hospital that smelled like stale sickness and dry jello. Miranda thinks that she really can't be blamed for not wanting to go back there or think about any of it at all, but that's what she's been doing and it's absolutely no help. She needs to start to face it, but how? How can she face something she's not even strong enough to force away?

She just doesn't know, and she'd so like some help with this, but who can she talk to? Miranda is keenly aware that she can't hardly profess to know anyone here very well. Her closest friend is Suncloud, and she isn't sure she's brave enough to talk to him about all this. But maybe trying wouldn't hurt?

Yes, maybe trying would at least ease some of the burden. Suncloud is someone she can trust, she thinks.

Miranda barely realizes that her eyelids are slipping closed until they finish their descent and she's already almost asleep.

* * *

She eases her eyes open to a familiar ceiling and that damn incessant beeping.

"Miranda?"

She knows that voice. And she thinks that perhaps she's never been so happy to hear it in her life.

"Leila?"

Sure enough, her best friend is here, holding on to her hand like if she lets go Miranda will fade away and never come back again.

"Hey there. You've looked better." The joke almost falls flat as a single tear spills from Leila's big brown eyes, landing with a wet plop on the back of Miranda's hand.

"You too. Crying gives you a red nose, you know," Miranda croaks out. Her voice is dull and scratchy with disuse here. She spends more and more time asleep, from what she can guess.

"My best friend's been out like a light for weeks and you're worried about my nose?" Leila shakes her head, another tear falling. "Christ, Miranda, you can be so ridiculous sometimes."

"Learned from the best."

The banter feels good, even more so because Leila is a friend she's known for years and not days.

Just then, two more wonderful people burst through the door and pull the curtain aside.

"Hi Mom, Dad," Miranda says, trying not to cringe at how utterly horrid her voice sounds.

"You're awake, kiddo," her dad says, staring down at her with watery eyes.

It's an odd sight; she's never seen her dad this close to crying before.

"We've been so worried…" her mother trails off, right hand clutching her forearm like she always does when she's trying to keep herself together.

"I know, I'm sorry." Miranda tries to get out a laugh. "I swear I won't drive on that side of town again."

Her parents laugh too, but it sounds pained. Leila just squeezes her hand.

"Your mother and I will drive you for a bit, kiddo. You did quite the number on your leg."

"What's the damage?" All attempts at levity feel awful, but Miranda can't help but hope that it will help the people around her.

"You broke your leg in several different places, a few of your ribs broke too, your collarbone. And you went in surgery for shrapnel." Leila's voice shakes on the last sentence, but Miranda is too surprised that she answered to address that right away.

"But don't you worry, you're going to be just fine," her mother says, at least speaking aloud.

Miranda can tell at once that she doesn't believe it. Leila's hand tightens around hers again, and she tries not to think that there is definitely something they're not telling her.

She smiles and pretends like she believes her mother anyway.

"Just give me a little time and I'll be good as new," Miranda says, trying to sound as chipper as she can.

"Take all the time you need, kiddo." Her dad's voice breaks at the end, but she pretends not to notice. If something is terribly wrong and they aren't telling her, then it's probably because they can barely handle it themselves. No need to make it any worse for them.

"Is there any water in here?"

"Oh of course honey!" Her mother flutters around to the tray on the other side of the bed and holds a plastic cup of water up to Miranda's lips. Miranda sips at it, surprised by the effort it takes. Then she remembers her collarbone. She shouldn't try and sit up, then.

Miranda nods her thanks once she's finished and asks Leila about school and college applications, because last she remembers those were coming up.

Leila tells her about the art schools she's applied to, and jokes that Miranda had best get on her apps, or she'd be stuck at home for a while until the next season for apps came around. Miranda mentions community college and makes them all chuckle just a little when she asks if she can take classes from this bed because it's actually quite comfortable.

When sun hits its peak outside, she begins to feel the telltale drowsiness that means she won't be back here for a while longer. As much as she hates to go, she isn't sure if she can help it. Maybe the pain meds are causing the drowsiness? Or maybe her body is just trying to heal? Whatever the case, it's been maybe an hour and a half and she's already fading.

"Can I see the doctor real quick?" she asks. Better to know what's actually wrong with her now.

"Of course." Her mother hurries out of the room and her dad keeps a conversation going to help her stay awake. Leila's hand never leaves hers, even though their palms are getting sweaty from the extended contact.

Miranda's impressed – her mother returns with a middle-aged woman with glasses and white doctor's coat inside three or so minutes.

With a smile that she hopes looks braver than she feels, Miranda asks to talk to Dr. Kim, as the doctor introduces herself, alone. Her parents both kiss her forehead before they step outside.

"We'll always be here whenever you wake up," her mother whispers. That promise warms her.

Leila just lets her hand go gently. "I'm right outside if you need me."

And then Miranda is alone with Dr. Kim.

"So," Miranda swallows against the cottony feeling in her mouth. "What's really going on?"

* * *

Waking up in Narnia after the news is disorienting, to say the least. Miranda lies there in the sparse grass for what feels like hours, staring at nothing and thinking about everything.

How can she be so bad off? The accident wasn't that bad…

And yet, apparently it was. Bad enough that they couldn't get all the shards of metal out in time, bad enough that she had internal bleeding that they could barely control, bad enough that they couldn't stop the infection in time. Bad enough that she has mere weeks left of life. She wasn't even supposed to wake up that time; it meant the pain meds were too close to wearing off.

Worse, weeks seem to go by in days here in Narnia. So by that token, she has days left.

A distant rumble pulls Miranda from her raging thoughts, but it quickly proves to be too miniscule a distraction.

What happens when she…stops…living? Surely she dies here in Narnia as well. Should she give the people she knows here a heads up? Maybe not, she can't be that important. But how is she going to say her goodbyes at home? Leila and her parents deserve a goodbye, but she might not wake up again to give them even that. And how is she supposed to say goodbye? She's known Leila for years and her parents for her entire life. How is she supposed to just tell them goodbye and she's sorry to leave so soon and she wishes she'd never gone on that side of town?

How is she supposed to tell them that it was her fault she wrecked the car and her life, all because of a little bit of paranoia?

At that thought, Miranda wants nothing more to curl up into an even tighter ball and never move again, but the rumble is slowly getting louder and harder to ignore. What is that, anyway?

With a heavy heart that tells her the rumbling doesn't matter one little bit, Miranda forces herself to sit up at least to see what it is before she returns to her dark musings. She stares out at the field and the forest beyond for several long minutes before the effort is too much and the rest of everything else she has to worry about comes flooding back.

She's dying. How is she supposed to process that? And yet she has to find some way of acting normal, like nothing at all is the matter, otherwise people will ask questions and questions are the one thing she simply cannot stand any more of right now. Her secrets are her own, thank you very much.

"And they're secrets for a reason," Miranda mumbles to herself, twisting her fingers in a patch of particularly long weeds. She grimaces at the dirt that packs under her fingernails and wishes that was her biggest problem.

Dirt under her fingernails; how nice that would be.

At once, the rumbling again grows too loud to ignore completely. Miranda turns an annoyed eye back to the plain in front of the How and is surprised to see movement in the trees. That movement quickly gives way to rows and rows of marching soldiers and rolling catapults.

"Of course Miraz would pick this particular morning to show up at the doorstep," Miranda grumbles. "He couldn't wait a few days until I'm dead, now could he? No no, tyrants don't run on anyone's schedule but their own. Honestly Miraz, you had one job."

Vaguely, she wonders if the sass that's so unlike her is coming from her inability to process her impending death. On the other hand, saying those words amuses her to practically no end, and so she deems it necessary to continue.

"It's like you know I hate the idea of being in a battle or something," she grouses, tugging the weeds from their earthy home. "I'll be dead soon enough, it's not like I need you to hurry the process along with your damn swords and catapults and crossbows and general shenanigans."

Why does it feel so very refreshing to be complaining about a guy she's never met to the thin morning air? Maybe she likes blaming someone else for her problems, even for just a few moments, but she's also not really done this kind of sarcasm before and for the moment, it's addictive.

"You know Miraz, for all your inconsiderate behavior of late, I have to appreciate that you're making a handy scapegoat at the moment. It's like I can blame you for your terrible timing."

This shouldn't feel so refreshing, but it does. However, Miranda hears hurried footsteps on the ledge above and to her left, so she hushes in the interest of keeping her new brand of humor to herself. She glances up at the new arrivals only to see that it's the Kings and Queens, come to join Prince Caspian in watching the arrival of his spectacularly rude uncle's army.

And apparently, said uncle decided to top off this whole excessive display with a cavalry that streams down the middle of the neat regiments of Telmarine soldiers. It only furthers Miranda's sardonic irritation with the whole thing. To top it off, she notices they're all wearing masks.

"More power to you, Miraz, but I'd think those masks make for a very uncomfortable experience. Not that I care; in fact if your soldiers hate your imposed wardrobe then so much the better for the rest of us that you had to wake up with your blasted marching." Miranda makes sure she says all of this under her breath so the royalty won't hear her.

"Mira!"

Miranda puts away her new sarcasm for the time being and stands to greet Suncloud.

"Good morning. Well, not that it's very good with this army, but you know…" she trails off, her customary trouble with words coming back to her easily.

Suncloud shrugs and scrutinizes her. "Indeed. Are you alright?"

Miranda screws her lips into a tight, thin-lipped smile "There's an army waiting to slice everyone here limb from limb, myself included. I'd say I've had better mornings."

To her surprise, this brings a dry smile to Suncloud's normally serious face.

"I should hope we've all had better mornings than this one." Her centaur friend hesitates, as if afraid of her reaction to whatever he's planning on saying next. "Are you…that is, do you plan on…"

"Fighting?" Miranda finishes, stuffing down the acerbic comment she'd like to make in favor of something more like herself. "I don't think it's much of a choice. Even if I did find a nice corner to hide in, those soldiers look like they'd be more than happy to stumble onto my corner and skewer me."

Suncloud looks pained at that, and she realizes that comment was a bit too much. "You mustn't speak like that Mira, we'd make sure you were kept safe if you didn't want to fight."

Miranda shrugs and tries to look grateful, even if she's decidedly cynical of their ability to do so. Battles are busy places, after all. Anything could happen. Just like at roads on the wrong side of town.

"Sorry. I guess I'm just a bit scared. I was awful at the hand-to-hand stuff, but I'd feel lousy just sitting this one out. Especially after the…" she trails off when she remembers that Suncloud's brother died in the raid that she was about to reference.

But Suncloud clearly knows what she was about to say; his face looks pinched as soon as she stops speaking and he can't meet her eye.

"Suncloud I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, you have a fair point." Suncloud sounds like he's graciously forgiving Miranda's slip, but he's still looking everywhere but her.

"Still, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." Miranda really wishes she'd thought a little more before opening her mouth. She didn't mean to remind Suncloud of losing his brother.

A moment passes, but Suncloud finally meets her penitent gaze. "Thank you."

The sound of marching soldiers grows and grows, mixing with the hoof-falls of the cavalry and the rickety rolling of the catapults, drowning out their words. Miranda is a bit relieved, even though she does not appreciate the noisy reminder of what she'll soon find herself smack in the middle of. Like any normal 21st century girl from Earth, she's never been in a medieval battle before.

At last, the intimidation march seems to be done; the army stops marching and just stands still, staring down the How and all the Narnians turned out watching as if they've committed a grave offense and deserve to die, or something equally as extreme. Well, in their defense, they probably think of the Narnians as dangerous insurgents threatening their way of life, but still. The Narnians were, technically, here first.

"Let me guess, they're all meeting about this soon?" Miranda asks her friend.

Sure enough, as soon as she looks up she sees King Peter waving everyone inside. Time for their meeting, and maybe when they're done she'll know what exactly she's supposed to do.

Miranda starts down a tunnel with Suncloud, but a gentle hand stops her from meandering toward the heart of the How.

To her surprise, it's Prince Caspian.

"Come. You'll want to know what's going on."

Miranda's so shocked that she can't come up with a reply for a few minutes. Because he's caught her so completely off-guard, the prince steers her along with him relatively easily. It's only when they reach a tunnel leading to a small interior room that her sense returns.

"Hang on, I'm not in charge of anything," she finally says, trying to tug her hand from his firm yet gentle grip.

His answer is a confused look. And then he seems to understand.

"Think of it as a favor, if you must."

"Favor for what?" she asks as she forces herself to stop trying to get free of the prince's warm hand.

"For coming to me, after the raid. I did not appreciate it at the time, but now…" he suddenly stops and turns to face her. "Thank you."

Sincere brown eyes catch hers and hold them, and Miranda isn't sure whether to feel annoyed or vaguely excited that she can't seem to look away.

"Well, I did say a little while back that if you ever need a pair of listening ears, mine are always open. It seemed silly to let that change with the scenery." Miranda has no idea how she managed two coherent sentences.

Prince Caspian seems to be at a loss for words as he looks down at her, his face changing between emotions so fast that Miranda can't trace the progression. His mouth opens, then closes, like he was going to say something but forgot what it was. In the end, he just squeezes her hand and she sees his gratitude in his eyes.

It makes her feel bashful; she's just doing what any good friend would do.

Does this mean they really are friends outside of their sometimes-talks at night?

She hopes so.

* * *

As it turns out, King Peter's grand idea to get them out of this battle alive is sending his two sisters, Queens Susan and Lucy, into the forest to find Aslan.

"Kegs and kettledrums, that's your next big plan?" is how Trumpkin reacts to it.

Instantly, Miranda decides she rather likes him, even if they've technically never met. A tiny part of her wants to chime in favoring his take on the proposal, but she remembers she's in a corner like always and that she doesn't like drawing attention. Meanwhile, King Peter is saying something about it being their only chance.

"And she won't be alone," Queen Susan adds, automatically leaning closer to her younger sister. To Miranda's surprise, Lucy looks rather at peace with this whole arrangement.

Trumpkin, however, is not. He goes up to his DLF and says, "H-haven't enough of us died already?"

"Nikabrik was my friend too," Trufflehunter replies. "But he lost hope. Queen Lucy hasn't. And neither have I."

A chorus of "For Aslan" comes from Reepicheep and Bulgy Bear. Miranda smiles at the bear's familiar voice. She hasn't seen much of him since arriving at the How.

Trumpkin still doesn't look happy, but seeing the concern mixed with resolve on High King Peter's face seems to resign him.

"Then I'm going with you," he says.

Lucy puts her hand on his shoulder, tells him they need him here. But this seems to give Prince Caspian an idea; he sits up a little straighter and interjects.

"But we may not need Miranda."

All heads turn to look at the prince then, Miranda herself most vehemently. What, exactly, is he suggesting? At least he brought her here so she can knock some sense into him if the situation requires. She's seriously pondering it already.

King Peter, however, motions for Prince Caspian to continue. And what does the prince do? Well, if Miranda trusts her hearing, he's suggesting she go with Susan and Lucy to find Aslan. His argument? Extra protection for Lucy couldn't hurt, Miranda was new to battle anyway and was best kept away from it, and if or when they found Aslan, he could help Miranda with why she's here in the first place. It makes quite a bit of sense, and everyone in the room jumps on board with the idea.

Well, except the person he's suggesting to do the going. She just stares at him like he's grown four extra heads he doesn't need and that she should forthwith chop off.

"Well Miranda? What do you think?"

Miranda looks up at Queen Susan with a perfectly blank face. What does she think? She thinks, frankly, that Prince Caspian here has hit his head and needs medical attention, because she would in no way contribute to anyone's safety. But on the other hand, she can understand his logic just a little, little bit. It almost seems as if he's trying to do her another favor. She's not quite sure if she likes the idea, however.

But when the alternative is facing a battle she knows she won't last two seconds in, well, there's really only one answer.

"Works for me. Just don't let me slow you down," she says, lifting her mouth into a smile that probably looks just as forced as it feels.

"Have you ridden a horse before?" Lucy asks.

"Not since I was a kid at the pony rides, unless carousels count," she answers with shrug, fully expecting them to change their minds about having her tag along.

To her surprise, however, Queen Susan has a very different idea.

"No matter. We'll help you before we leave."

Miranda blinks a few times, trying to grasp exactly why these people are being so kind to her, but at length quickly nods her assent. What else could she do, anyway? She'd rather not die before she absolutely has to.

"We just have to hold off them off until you three get back." King Peter deftly returns the conversation to the most pressing matter at hand.

"If I may."

Miranda glances sideways at Prince Caspian. It seems he's full of ideas today.

_'Good ideas_,' she admits grudgingly to herself. And then she turns her attention back to the prince who probably just saved her behind and is now standing up towards the middle of the room, having stepped away from his former seat.

"Miraz may be a tyrant, and a murderer. But as king, he is subject to the traditions and expectations of his people." Prince Caspian has a crafty gleam in his eye that Miranda instantly decides she likes on him. "There is one, in particular, that may buy us some time," he finishes.

Miranda doesn't know what to think when he says he wants to challenge his uncle to a duel – to the death.

* * *

After that taxing meeting, Queen Susan and Lucy take Miranda to figure out how to ride a horse. As it turns out, she has to practice on Prince Caspian's horse for now.

Miranda tries very hard not to look at the sheer size of its hooves.

"Queen Susan?" she tries, staring at the horse's back in confusion.

"Call me Susan. I think we know each other well enough for that."

Miranda grins and continues with her question of how to get on the horse in the first place.

Susan shows her how to vault up onto the beast, but it's a bit antsy, shifting here and there. Lucy ends up being the encouraging party. In fact, without the young queen's input, Miranda is quite sure she'd have quit this process before she even started.

But after an hour or two or maybe three, she isn't sure, Miranda is finally able to sit on Destrier, as she learns the horse is called, balance, and get through the basic gaits. Well, they didn't try galloping because Miranda was sure that she'd fall, maybe split her skull on the tunnel walls, and then the crash course in horseback riding would be a moot point anyway.

But all in all, with Susan and Lucy's help, Miranda is no longer feeling overwhelmed and cynical about this horseback riding. She might even come to enjoy it, when she's not riding for her life through a forest.

Soon after she feels ready, they get the news that Edmund's returned with Miraz's acceptance. Miranda remembers that Prince Caspian wanted to be the one to fight him and the look on his face when Peter said he would fight Miraz instead. Disappointment, indigence, and a little bit of anger all danced across his face, though he tried to hide it.

Miranda instantly wondered why he wanted his uncle to die. It was something she didn't know; it was more than just that Miraz tried to kill Caspian and forced him to flee his own castle. Maybe she should ask him, but she's hesitant. And there's essentially no time to do so anyway.

But now they're all getting ready for their ride into the forest to find Aslan, so there's no more time to muse and ponder. Miranda goes to the armory for a bow, quiver, and a dagger at Susan's insistence. For her part, Miranda fervently hopes she won't have to use the dagger, as she'd be prematurely dead almost certainly.

Far too soon, they're mounting up – Susan and Lucy on Destrier, and Miranda on the horse Caspian's Professor rode out of the raid, as she learns when Caspian brings it to her. Well, all he says is that his Professor wants her to use it, but she can guess the rest. His Professor wasn't here before the raid.

She tries to vault up like Susan taught her and grins at her success. The Professor's horse, Alvar, is a bit shorter than Destrier, to her benefit. Caspian asks if she's ready and checks that she does actually have a dagger strapped onto her hip after she's mounted and situated in the saddle. Miranda tries not to brush off his concern, but it's hard knowing she doesn't have very long left here anyway.

"Be safe," he tells her.

She wants to joke that being safe, or at least safer, is why he suggested she go on this little trip anyway, but instead she just nods.

"You too," she says, because he needs the good luck wish a bit more than she does.

A small smile quirks his lips upward, and for a second it looks like he might take her hand. But he clears his throat and walks over to check on Susan and Lucy, leaving Miranda to wonder why she feels just the tiniest bit disappointed.

Especially when she firmly believes she should feel the opposite.

"Destrier has always served me well. You are in good hands," she hears Caspian tell the two queens.

Lucy jokes back something about hooves, but Miranda is guiltily zoning out, wondering suddenly what happens if she does die here instead of at home. Would that mean she would never get to say goodbye to her parents, to Leila?

That seems to be what makes the most sense, so Miranda resolves to survive long enough to sleep tonight, if at all possible. She has to say goodbye. Speaking of, is that Suncloud who's rushing into the room?

"Mira!" Yes, it is. He's the only one who calls her Mira.

"Just in time," she greets him with a smile. "I was about to head off without saying hello."

"I think you mean goodbye," he answers with a grin that somehow manages to be both teasing and somber at the same time. "I came to wish you luck."

Miranda smiles and tries hard not to think about goodbyes. "Best get on with it. I don't want to make everyone late."

"Good luck then," her centaur friend says, reaching over to clasp her hand. His palm is calloused and rough against hers, but she returns the squeeze happily.

"Stay alive so I can annoy you after I get back," she tells him.

"And the same to you."

And that's all they have time for; Susan is looking over and asks Miranda if she's ready.

Miranda squeezes Suncloud's hand one more time before regretfully letting go and nudging Alvar into a…what was it Susan called the gait? A canter?

Before she's even completely sure she's ready for this, Miranda finds that Destrier and Alvar are already outside and at a full gallop.

They leave out the side and are within the woods in seconds.

* * *

**Review!**


	13. Arc 1: The Great Lion

**Man, I haven't had writer's block in a while, but lately I've been socked in the gut with it...Here's hoping this chapter didn't suffer too horribly for it. :/ The good news is that I've finished the first 'arc' of this story and I do know where it's going now, so there's no more trial-and-error writing to be done. I just axed over ten thousand words on this story's rough draft a month ago...**

**And as always, I send out massive thank you's to my reviewers! It really does keep me more motivated when I hear from you guys :) Sarahwood, it was fantastic hearing from you last chapter, and extra props to you for reviewing Moonrose as well!**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Miranda didn't expect it to feel almost peaceful, galloping frantically through the trees. But she finds that it feels just that – peaceful and quiet and easy. If only she could get away from all her problems like this.

There isn't any talking among the three of them either. Why would there be? What on earth would they talk about? Miranda briefly wonders if she shouldn't be paying a bit more attention to the ride at hand, but it feels so freeing to tear along through the forest with no one telling her to stop or slow down.

Just then, when she's enjoying no one else being around, she hears the yell.

'_Really guys? You just had to butt in,'_ she sighs internally at the half-dozen or so Telmarines who've gone and done the courtesy of following them. And that would also be the return of her sass. Maybe it only comes up when the Telmarines are doing something annoying like trying to kill everyone.

'_That's not annoying, it's just straight-up awful,'_ Miranda chides herself. She's so lost in her thoughts she almost doesn't see Destrier slowing.

Confused, Miranda immediately slows Alvar too, until both horses have stopped. Susan jumps off.

"Take the reins," she tells Lucy.

What?

"What're you doing?" Lucy cries.

Miranda can only sit on Alvar and watch, stunned.

"I'm sorry, Lucy," Susan says. "Miranda, look after her."

"Susan, there's too many," Miranda tries to protest, but then she understands. It's this or let them follow and kill them all. "Be careful," is all she says after that.

Susan doesn't say anything else, just smacks Destrier on the rump and sends Lucy off at a trot. Miranda hesitates, but after a firm look from Susan she urges Alvar on after Lucy.

Lucy stops at the top of the hill and stares back at her sister for a long moment.

"We should go," Miranda says gently.

Lucy hesitates another moment, but she pushes Destrier back into a gallop after. She looks over at Miranda as they both race deeper into the forest.

Miranda doesn't say anything; she just returns the gaze and hopes that Susan will be okay.

The ride after that is long and not so pleasant. Miranda and Lucy push their horses as fast as they can go. It feels like hours slide by in this fashion, with snorting horses and snatches of trees and breathless checks over their shoulders to see if anyone else is following them.

Miranda finds that her mind wants to wander, to make use of the wordless ride and sort out some of the more pressing things bothering her. But Miranda forces the focus, because right now nothing is more important than finding Aslan so the Narnians have a chance. And she really, really should have been thinking of that the whole time.

A glance over at Lucy shows her that the young queen is both worried and a little scared, though she doesn't look back nearly as often as Miranda does. Miranda wants to reassure her that they'll find Aslan, but Lucy looks just strong enough that she doesn't. Who wouldn't be worried and scared in this scenario? Miranda is only surviving so well because she's refusing to think about anything but riding ahead and onward. It's easier than thinking about what – rather, who – they left behind.

Suddenly, they both hear a horse's neigh followed by a yell. It wasn't Destrier and it wasn't Alvar, and it wasn't either of them.

Lucy and Miranda both look back only to see a Telmarine on his horse with a crossbow racing after them, and unfortunately gaining on them. And at once, Miranda knows what she has to do.

She lets go of the reins with one hand, pulls out her bow and an arrow from the quiver on her back, and slows down Alvar so she can take aim properly.

If ever there was a time not to miss, this is certainly it.

Miranda slows Alvar even more so she can twist in the saddle without falling outright. Holding on with her legs for dear life, she takes aim and almost doesn't notice Lucy slowing down too.

She almost yells at her to keep going, but then she sees a flash of gold in the corner of her eye. Heart suddenly racing, Miranda whips back around to see a lion much bigger than any ordinary lion standing right in front of Lucy and Destrier. Alvar screeches to a halt and Miranda just wonders at the lion for half a moment. And then an almighty roar is practically splitting her ears in two.

Lucy screams and Destrier rears, unceremoniously dumping her onto the leaf-covered ground. Alvar does a strange little-half rear, throwing Miranda off-balance but not off completely, though her bow and arrow don't stay intact.

Alvar dances sideways under her and she tries to keep her seat, but Miranda doesn't know how to make him stop. And then she's distracted altogether as Aslan launches himself over her and Lucy's heads at the Telmarine who was unfortunate enough to follow them.

His horse neighs and he yells. Miranda jumps off of Alvar on a crazy impulse and grabs Destrier's reins before he can take off. She doesn't look back to see the Telmarine's fate.

Lucy, eyes wide, scurries to her feet and stands up facing Aslan. Miranda slowly follows her gaze. To her surprise, she sees the Telmarine running away. He's clearly scared senseless, but Aslan only growls once and then turns to Lucy.

"Aslan!" she cries, racing forward and wrapping her arms around the lion as best she can. Miranda isn't sure what to make of this scene – a young queen rolling around in the fallen leaves with a lion several times larger than her like he's a great big and cuddly cat. And they're both laughing like it's nothing at all.

"I knew it was you, the whole time, I knew it!" Lucy exclaims as she plops down in front of Aslan. "But the others didn't believe me."

"And why would that stop you from coming to me?" Aslan sounds incredibly gentle, even though it's a reprimand. He seems to be a very nice sort of lion.

Lucy hesitates.

"I'm sorry," she finally says. "I was too scared to come alone."

Aslan, however, doesn't seem angry with her.

"Why wouldn't you show yourself?" she continues. "Why couldn't you come roaring in and save us, like last time?"

Aslan smiles at the young queen before him, so clearly very devoted.

"Things never happen the same way twice, dear one," the lion says.

Lucy doesn't answer at first, but when she does, she sounds sad. "If I had come earlier, could everyone who died, could I have stopped that?"

"We can never know what would have happened, Lucy."

Miranda instantly thinks of Suncloud's brother, Rainstone, and the raid.

"I see you've brought a friend," Aslan says.

"Yes, this is Miranda." Lucy waves her over, but Miranda hesitates. She doesn't want to intrude.

"Come, Miranda."

At the Lion's invitation, Miranda walks over, barely noticing that she drops the horses' reins. Lucy scoots over to make room for her, so Miranda sits next to the queen and folds her knees under herself.

"Welcome to Narnia," Aslan continues. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Th-thanks," Miranda stutters. She isn't sure what to say to a lion, particularly this Lion.

"You needn't be nervous," Lucy reassures her.

"Can I ask why I'm here? I've heard you might be the person to ask." Miranda doesn't stumble over her words quite so badly this time, but she still can't quite meet the great Lion's eyes.

"You may. But first, I think our help is needed in battle."

Lucy grins and gazes happily up at Aslan.

"You'll help?"

"Of course," is the warm reply. "As will you."

Miranda doesn't miss that he looks at them both when he says that. Luckily for her, Lucy says exactly what she's thinking.

"Oh, I wish I was braver."

When Aslan speaks, it's with a laugh in his voice. "If you were any braver, you'd be a lioness." At this, Aslan stands up and Miranda scrambles to her feet in response. Lucy, on the other hand, remains where she is.

"Now, I think your friends have slept long enough, don't you?" Aslan throws his head back and roars. It shakes the trees down to their roots, and both Miranda and Lucy can only watch open-mouthed with wonder when the trees actually start moving.

"Lucy, lead them on," Aslan tells the young queen as she gets to her feet, still staring at the trees as they literally uproot and start moving as one.

Lucy obeys, walking among the trees like they're old friends. In fact, Miranda wouldn't be at all surprised if they were.

"Walk with me, Daughter of Eve."

Now it's Miranda's turn to obey Aslan. They walk a little ways behind Lucy, clearly out of earshot.

"Why are we walking back here?" Miranda asks him as he pads along beside her, paws practically silent on the ground.

"No one is told any story but their own. Now, I believe you are wondering why you have been brought to Narnia."

Miranda nods. "I was hoping you'd have some insight. I'm at a loss myself."

Strange, she would have given anything to not talk about this not so long ago. But now that Aslan is here, it only seems right to ask if he knows, or even if he was the one to bring her here in the first place.

"You doubt your place here."

She looks over and meets Aslan's knowing gaze.

"Of course I do; I'm essentially useless. I haven't exactly contributed much." If she's honest, Miranda thinks she has contributed a grand total of nothing. Absolutely, completely, and inarguably nothing.

"You do not have to prove your worth, Miranda. Nor do you need to earn your time here. It was given to you as a gift," Aslan tells her warmly. And yet he seems a little disappointed at the same time.

But doesn't she though? Isn't that how the world works?

Miranda decides, against her better judgment, to voice that last question. Aslan's reply is to shake his great maned head.

"You are here to heal, if you allow it."

Here to heal? What?

"Are you sure?" Miranda fully realizes after she's already spoken that she probably should not be questioning Aslan so blatantly, but what he's saying almost doesn't make sense; she can't _help_ but question it.

"So I'm supposed to just enjoy this gift and get myself better?" It sounds so absurd when she says it aloud.

"You may take all the time you need. Your healing will be of help not just to you." Aslan, somehow, seems saddened at her.

What a strange concept, this. Where are the strings? Where is the other shoe?

"Aslan, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but what are the…conditions, I guess is the best way to say it?"

"A gift has no conditions," Aslan says, his gaze piercing her when she finally meets it. As absurd at the thought is, Miranda would swear that Aslan knows exactly everything there is to know about her just by looking at her.

"No strings attached? Nothing like that?" Miranda asks. She has to make absolutely sure that this isn't going to up and turn on her the minute she decides to trust it.

"No. No strings."

And it's exactly then that Miranda remembers her most pressing concern at the moment.

"But what about when I…when…you know, when…" she can't say it. She wants to ask, she so much wants to tell Aslan about the hospital and what the doctor said, but she can't speak the actual words. She can think them, but saying them aloud is another matter entirely.

But she has to. She has to know what happens more than she needs to keep it from feeling even more real than it already does.

"When I don't make it. Back in the hospital, they told me I'm dying. Or is all that a dream?" Miranda almost sags in relief at finally getting the words out. And the next moment it feels real and pressing and impossibly frightening and she regrets saying anything at all.

"When you wake there, it is as real as when you wake in Narnia. But you will die there, I cannot stop that." Aslan speaking of her death to her is an odd experience, but it doesn't sound so horrible when the Great Lion talks about it.

"And here? What happens to me here?"

Aslan looks over at her with wise, sad eyes. "That, you will have to discover yourself."

That should strip her of all hope. But it doesn't.

Miranda feels a strange bubbling sort of sensation in her chest that she only knows to call hope, but it feels like more than that, though she can't put her finger on what exactly. But somehow it's _more_, just like Narnia itself is _more_. How is this change possible, when only moments ago her joints were freezing in terror?

"I think I can handle that," Miranda finds herself saying.

Maybe she can. Maybe that's just enough to start with.

After all, Narnia is safe, even though it's at war. No one has hurt her like her blond demon did, and the Narnians she's met here so far all seem the type to skewer him if she ever were to tell them what happened.

"Thank you," Miranda finally says with a smile. Things, for this precious, single moment, feel like they could actually work out, that she has something to look forward too after all, though she has no idea what it is.

Hope is a powerful thing.

* * *

Aslan sends the trees to the How, where the battle still rages; they can hear it as they hurry on their way to Beruna.

"You want us to do what, exactly?" Miranda did technically hear Aslan the first time he told her and Lucy to stand on the bridge and face the Telmarine army that would be on the other side, but she really hopes that she somehow misheard. Newfound hope or not, facing an entire army makes her knees knock.

"It'll be alright, Miranda," Lucy reassures her. A ten-year old is surer of this than she is.

Miranda does her best to pull it together. Was she not just pondering hope and those sorts of things not half an hour ago?

"Sorry. I'm just…a little nervous." Miranda almost feels ashamed, but stops herself. She's still learning; Aslan pointed that out to her. And he, after all, was so patient with her.

And just as soon as she's working up her courage, they arrive at the bridge. They do happen to be on the wrong side of the river, but at Aslan's word Lucy and Miranda climb on his back and he gets them across with one unbelievable leap.

Yet another thing for Miranda to wonder over. She does exactly that as she climbs off the Lion's back and adds riding a lion to that list of things to remember for a long, long time. Well, as long as she has, however long that may be.

"Now we wait?" Miranda guesses.

Aslan and Lucy both nod. Lucy decides to use the time talking with Aslan about the year she and her siblings were back in their world after their first adventure and Narnia and asking him why he didn't help during the Telmarine invasion.

Miranda listens, intrigued. Aslan is at once elusive and wise and apologetic and unchangeable. He's so many things at once that she could never possibly name them all, but all she is sure of is that Aslan makes her feel at peace, no matter what words he actually says. It's a feeling she's missed since…well, she isn't sure how long.

At length, Aslan rises and tells them that it's time.

"Be bold, Daughters of Eve."

And with that, the thunder of thousands of feet sounds across the river. Lucy takes Miranda's hand and they go out onto the bridge together, standing at the edge as they face the oncoming Telmarine army.

It's decidedly smaller than it looked from atop the How, a fact Miranda is happy for. Well, relieved for.

The Telmarines start to clamor onto the bridge, but at the sight of the two girls, they stop up short and stare, blinking in confusion and unsure what to do. Miranda notes that Miraz doesn't seem to be here.

The Narnians are lined up behind the Telmarines, weapons ready should they turn back around and try to run to the How.

Lucy draws her dagger and Miranda draws hers, the two of them staring down the frozen troops. One of the soldiers, the one of the few that Miranda can see still mounted, looks back and forth between the Narnian army and Lucy and Miranda.

Aslan pads silently to stand between the two of them, trades a glance with each. The mounted soldier's shock at the appearance of the Great Lion is a sight that makes Miranda want to smile. Together, the three of them stand against the Telmarine army.

Well, until the unsure mounted soldier at the front lets out a war cry and spurs the army on and toward Aslan and the two Daughters of Eve. Aslan lets them come until they reach the half-point of the bridge.

Miranda hears the beginnings of his growl, and she turns to watch as it explodes into a deafening roar, the sheer force of it sending ripples across the river and halting the Telmarines in their tracks once more.

Everything is still; everything is waiting. The river water begins to drop away until it barely comes to the Telmarines' knees, and a great swell of frothy water builds and rushes toward the wooden bridge. Miranda can only stare as it explodes into the shape of a man with a great foamy beard and hair that extends down his back. Two great hands rush up from the water and the water-man looks to Aslan.

Aslan places a paw on the bridge, nods his furry head, and smiles. Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda sees the Telmarines start to flee, their screams and shouts sounding rather small in the wake of Aslan's roar. A great many splashes join the cacophony as the soldiers jump from the bridge. If they're trying to get away, why on earth would they hurl themselves into the river, for heaven's sake?

The river god bends down to the bridge, water spilling everywhere and dousing the unfortunate soldiers. With one great motion, he rips the bridge from the river and stares at the soldier who started the charge for a single, breathless moment before destroying it all.

The only thing left of the bridge is a collection of splinters and the occasional scrap of wood. Miranda takes a half-step back as the water soars well above her head, almost worried it'll collapse backward and drench her completely through. But no such thing happens, and Miranda watches the river wash away the last remnants of the bridge with Aslan and Lucy at her side.

Wonders indeed. She'd never have seen anything like this back in her world.

With the bridge now gone, the Telmarines seem to have accepted their defeat. Some of them even look, underneath the freshly awakened fear, a little relieved. Miranda and Lucy put away their daggers as the former enemy throws down their weapons in surrender. Some of the Narnians wade across the river and begin organizing the surrender, and the Telmarines throw down their weapons into piles.

Edmund, Caspian, Peter, and Susan wade across too, heading straight for Aslan and their little sister. No one says anything, but when they all reach the Great Lion, the four of them drop to their knees with their heads bowed respectfully.

"Rise, Kings and Queens of Narnia," rumbles Aslan.

Lucy's siblings all rise, but Prince Caspian stays on his knee.

"All of you," Aslan prompts with a smile in his voice.

Miranda, for her part, can't tear her eyes away from the humility Prince Caspian is displaying. After fighting for his throne, now he hesitates at the title king. It warms her.

Caspian looks up hesitantly at the Lion before him. "I do not think I am ready," he says, looking down at the pebble-ridden ground as he does.

"It's for that very reason," Aslan replies, still smiling, "I know you are."

At the Lion's acceptance, Caspian – perhaps King Caspian now – gets to his feet as well, smiling a quiet and peaceful and bashful sort of smile at the Kings and Queens greetings as he does. To Miranda's surprise, he looks over at her for a long moment. She smiles too and tries to tell him that he's wonderful without saying anything out loud.

The moment is broken by mournful bagpipes and the Kings and Queen part ways to allow a tiny, tiny stretcher through bearing a familiar mouse.

"Reepicheep?" Miranda whispers. She remembers the mouse most prominently from his expert tackling of Prince Caspian when they first arrived at the Narnians' hiding place deep in the forest.

The mouse is too ill to speak; the bagpipe mourns on, and Lucy rushes forward with her cordial in hand and ready. With great care, Lucy leans down and administers the fireflower juice to a gasping Reepicheep.

After a few anxious seconds, Reepicheep stands and thanks Lucy, stumbling a bit as he gets off the stretcher.

"Oh!" the mouse says, having noticed the Great Lion sitting and watching the scene unfold. "Hail, Aslan! It is a great honor to be in-" The mouse starts to bow, but quickly looses his balance and stumbles forward, almost landing on his face.

He spins around, exclaiming various unintelligible syllables, and sees the stump where his tail should be. His little arms are too short to cover it, but he tries anyway.

"I-I am completely out of countenance," the poor mouse stutters to Aslan, who observes him with a slightly amused eye. "I must crave your indulgence for appearing in this unseemly fashion." Here he turns to Lucy, blinking pleadingly up at her. "Perhaps a drop more?"

"I don't think it does that," Lucy answers apologetically, looking down at her cordial with a scrunched face.

"You could have a go," Reepicheep suggests beseechingly.

Personally, Miranda thinks he looks just as cute without it, but she heard from Lucy that Reep is quite sensitive to being called things such as 'cute,' so she keeps the thought firmly to herself.

Aslan chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling pleasantly through the air.

"It becomes you well, small one," he tells the distraught mouse.

"All the same, great King," Reepicheep replies as he takes his tiny sword from its scabbard at his hip, "I regret that I must withdraw, for a tail is the honor and glory of a mouse."

Reepicheep now seems resigned to his fate as a tail-less mouse as he presents his sword on both paws to Aslan. Aslan, however, has other ideas.

"Perhaps you think too much of your honor, friend."

The mouse is clearly taken aback by this; he steps back and stumbles over his words again.

"Well it's, it's not just the honor," he tries to explain. "I-It's also good for balance. And climbing. A-and grabbing things."

Aslan looks on this fondly, Miranda can see the smile in his warm and golden eyes, but Reepicheep's fellow mice have their own speech to contribute.

"May it please Your High Majesty," the one most directly behind Reepicheep begins. "We will not bear the shame of wearing an honor denied to our chief."

As these words are being said, all the mice draw their swords and hold them to their tails. Reepicheep turns to look at them with surprise and gratitude, and Aslan smiles on the show of deep and abiding affection.

"Not for the sake of your dignity," he tells the tail-less mouse, "but for the love of your people."

Reepicheep turns back around to ask what the Lion means, and as he does something grows up behind him. He notices after it's finished.

And at the sight of his new tail, gift of Aslan, he gasps and exclaims happily as he clutches it in his tiny paw.

"Thank you, thank you My Liege!" Reepicheep gushes, bowing with a flourish of his sword to emphasize the point. "I will treasure it always! From this day forward it will serve as a great reminder of my huge humility!"

The Kings and Queens, Caspian included, chuckle at the display and Aslan joins in soon after. Levity is a relief after the tension of the battle, Miranda guesses. She knows it's relieving for her, and the worst thing she had to sort through was her reason for being here. And contend with her condition in the hospital, but that isn't quite so immediately pressing. So laughing with them is a nice change, and a welcome one.

"Now, where is this dear little friend you've told me so much about?" Aslan directs this to Lucy, who turns to look at Trumpkin, who's currently on this side of the river helping to organize the surrender.

He notices everyone staring at him, as well as the prominent Lion standing there with a warm and yet slightly stern look. The red dwarf approaches and kneels as is appropriate, and Aslan stands as he does so. At the dwarf's bow, Aslan looses another of his bone-shaking roars.

Trumpkin is clearly a bit frightened, but Lucy seems more amused than anything.

"Do you see him now?" she asks, clearly part of some inside joke between the two of them.

Shaken but smiling, Trumpkin laughs a little and nods repeatedly, remaining on one knee on the pebbly shore.

The lighthearted mood continues, with more chuckles and grins from everyone until Aslan turns to Caspian with a newly serious expression on his face.

"Come, Your Majesty. We have things to speak of."

Caspian nods and looks a bit intimidated, but in the end he goes with Aslan almost happily. Well, he is meeting yet another figure from the Old Narnian tales, so he must be awed. Miranda knows awed barely covers how she's felt ever since meeting the Lion.

At once, Lucy remembers the wounded the battle has inevitably left behind. "I've got to go help them," she says, immediately taking off to wade the river back to the battlefield in front of the How.

"Do you need any help?" Miranda calls after her.

"That would be lovely!" Lucy ends up having to shout this, because she's already knee-deep in the river. In fact, the currents are giving her a bit of a rough time, so Miranda rushes up to her and gives the young queen her arm to hold on to.

"It's not as easy without Aslan," she says ruefully, mildly annoyed at how the river drags and pulls and tugs at her skirts and practically ties them around her legs.

"He makes everything easier."

Lucy's right, but Miranda doesn't feel the need to tell her so.

As soon as the two successfully ford the river, Lucy breaks out into a jog, bursting through the trees and onto the battlefield almost frantically.

"There!" Miranda points to the first moving body she sees on the ground, a Satyr with a large gash in his abdomen.

Lucy wastes no time in sprinting over and administering the fireflower juice. Within a few minutes, the Satyr is as good as new and thanking Lucy profusely. Of course, Lucy acknowledges this, but she's already looking for the next poor injured soul who needs her help.

As it turns out, the next that she sees is a Telmarine soldier. Miranda, for a moment, isn't sure what Lucy will do, but Lucy's already running over with the healing cordial by the time Miranda figures it out.

And so the second wounded soldier is healed at Lucy's hands. Miranda takes on the responsibility of running ahead of Lucy to help anyone she can't get to right away. When Miranda does find one of the wounded gasping their last breaths, she yells for Lucy as loud as she can. Sometimes Lucy makes it, and some times she doesn't. Those times, Miranda swallows her tears, tells Lucy to hurry on to the next person in need of her help, and does the job of closing the eyes and crossing the arms herself.

She's never been this close to death in all her life and she feels that it ought to be rattling her more than it is, but having spent time with Aslan is having a lingering effect. But only for so long; as the time goes on, Miranda starts to want to run from the carnage and cry on her own a little bit more. But Lucy's siblings are needed to organize the surrender and keep order; who else will help Lucy? Perhaps Lucy could do it on her own, but that would be a lonely job, and Miranda knows that she has saved more lives than she's seen slip away from under her fingers.

'_Is this what my own death will be like?_' she wonders at the body currently in her care. Lucy was too far away, Miranda knows there was no way for her to make it, and so she simply sat with the Telmarine until he breathed his last to spare Lucy the pain of seeing another life go beyond the reach of the healing cordial.

Oddly enough, death seems almost…peaceful, once the pain passes. Miranda can't help but hope her death isn't going to be quite as painful, with modern pain medications and sedatives and the like. Her death will probably – definitely – be more comfortable than this wretched death on a battlefield.

All these thoughts and sights and smells of death will take their toll later, she knows, but what else is there to be done? At least some of these dying soldiers don't have to go at the ordeal alone, even if it's just the last few seconds they have in someone's company.

Miranda wishes she could give them more than that, the ones who pass on. She tries to keep in mind that she and Lucy are helping so many, but the ones they can't help start to press to the forefront of her mind.

One faun gasps out his last words asking if Narnia is free again. Miranda can't help her tears at that; she is so happy to be able to tell him that yes it was and he could rest easy because Aslan even came to help.

That faun died with a smile on his bloodied lips.

After perhaps an hour, perhaps more and perhaps less, Miranda begins to get used to it – the deaths. She starts sprinting in between the wounded as fast as she can instead of just running, just in case those extra milliseconds will make a difference. Very often, they don't, but just often enough they do and Miranda feels glad for the ache in her legs and the stitch in her side.

"Thank you for helping me," Lucy tells her after the successful healing of a Minotaur.

"Helping you is helping them. I wouldn't dream of doing anything else," Miranda replies. At first, she thinks she's sugar-coating it, but the more she thinks on it as they continue on, the more she finds that it's actually quite true.

Before this, her closest acquaintance with death was wondering if it was her that shot the Telmarine spy, and now she's seen more of it than she would have ever dreamed she could handle before meeting Aslan.

Miranda is still helping Lucy heal the wounded when she notices Aslan and Caspian return from their walk, with Aslan walking beside the new king through the woods, both their lower halves wet from the river. She's relived to see that Caspian doesn't look quite so doubtful as before.

Whatever the case, he bows in respect to the Great Lion and, to her surprise, instantly starts toward her.

* * *

**A sort-of cliffhanger, but it had to be cut here or we'd be looking at a ten thousand word chapter...We'll see what Caspian's gonna do next week. ;)**

**Sarahwood - First off, I have to give you a shout-out for reviewing not just one, but two of my stories. As always, it was a pleasure hearing from you.  
Caspian and Miranda are definitely making some progress, and it was kind of relieving to be able to post a chapter that inches toward more and more familiarity. As far as Susan and Miranda, I really wanted to establish a good repore between those two because they're close in age and Susan strikes me as a friendly sort of grounded person. As soon as Miranda was an established character in my head, it just seemed to fit that her and Susan would be friends.**

**Review!**


	14. Arc 1: Telling Secrets, Telling Lies

**I apologize for the slight lateness in getting this one out, there were two days of lovely technical difficulties. (Don't we all love those?) Hope it wasn't too long! **

**Thank you, once more, to sarahwood for reviewing! **

* * *

**Chapter 13**

"Shouldn't you be with the Pevensies?" she asks him. It's meant to be teasing, but the incredible toll of the past hour or two hours or however long it's been make the attempt come out flat.

Secretly, she's grateful for the small break, even though the thought makes her feel less than two inches tall and she swears to forget it.

"I wanted to make sure you were well," is his answer. Clearly, he remembers her troubled mood before the battle. And perhaps now he can see the exhaustion making her feet drag.

Miranda forces a nonchalant shrug. "I'm fine." Maybe she should thank him for the concern, but if she does he might stay and ask what was bothering her.

To her chagrin, he does that anyway.

"Nothing important," she tries to say, but he's shaking his head before she even finishes the first word.

"It was important, I think you simply don't wish to speak of it."

He's right, but she doesn't have to admit it aloud.

"Well, maybe it's personal," she fires back, smirking like it's a game when she knows it's really not.

"And perhaps you wish to speak of it in spite of that," he returns, raising an eyebrow at her attempt at lightening the situation. "I would not press you if I did not think it would help." He steps closer to her, leans in and speaks a little quieter like he doesn't want others to hear. "It's not like you to be so…dismissive."

"And it's not like you to pry." Miranda almost feels bad for being snappy, but she doesn't want to think about her impending death, not when there's already so much of it in front of her. Lucy's cordial can be too late, and has been too late for some. Though if she spins it right, she could dismiss this mood of hers as the mere stress of battle, or battle cleanup, or something that sounds equally as plausible.

"Miranda, what is it?" he asks, more urgently now. "I am worried about you."

Her tongue ties itself in knots at the blatant question that's getting increasingly harder to evade. For a moment, she wants to fire back that of the two of them, he's the one they should both be worried about, not her. But then again, on some level she knows that finally telling someone about it, a friend, might be a relief. But on most other levels, she feels that it's personal and it's private and no one really needs to know anyway.

"You've got to swear you won't repeat a word I say to anyone, got that?" Miranda adopts her sternest face as she prepares to finally give in to Caspian's incessant questioning. Maybe it's the tumult of battle that's changed his former stance on leaving her be. And she's just selfish enough to want the relief of trusting someone a little, little bit.

"You have my word."

Miranda nods once, the motion cropped by her lingering indecision. Should she really tell him, even though she kind of wants to? How much should she tell him? How much will he understand?

"Not here," she finally says, steering them away from the busy battlefield. She doesn't want anyone else to hear what she's about to say, because it's hard enough saying it aloud to just one person. And he's a friend.

Moreover, the toll from watching so many die is finally sinking in, and she doesn't know if she can keep going without taking a few minutes to at least attempt to compose herself. Already, the sights and sounds and smells of death are making her head light and fuzzy. Though by that token, speaking of her own limited supply of life isn't likely to improve the hazy, incoherent thoughts or the ache starting just at her hairline.

Caspian guides her to the edge of the forest, away from anyone's earshot, and sits down on a stump, waiting patiently for her to begin. It reminds her very much of those first nights they were getting to know each other, back when he was only just starting the war.

"You think the story is that long?"

"With you, it is best to be prepared for anything." A sparkle in his eye, dulled from the seriousness of the past few hours, tells her he's teasing her, but she shoves his shoulder lightly just because.

"I'm flattered, really." From there, there's really nothing else to do but start blurting out her secrets. So Miranda chooses one, and one only, and decides that this is the one she'll tell her friend Prince – King – Caspian.

"Remember when I was explaining how I got to Narnia?" At his nod, she takes a seat on a fallen log next to his stump and rests her elbows on her knees. "Well, I left out what came after. Sometimes, less frequently now, when I fall asleep here, I wake up back home. In a hospital," she finishes. There, that's one secret.

"Hos-pi-dal?" Caspian stumbles a bit over the unfamiliar word, and it makes Miranda smile a little. If she didn't know better, she'd say he's cute when he's trying to sound out a new word.

"Sick house," she explains. "They send you there if you're sick enough."

"Are you there because of the accident?"

Miranda nods and purposely avoids his gaze that's getting heavier and heavier by the second.

"Yeah, it was a little worse than I let on. Well, in my defense, I didn't really know how bad it was back then."

Caspian waits, and she can feel him staring at her in confusion. Apparently, she still isn't making a whole lot of sense.

"I'm in there because…because…" God, she can't bring herself to say the word 'dying' out loud, because then it really will be real and for now she can at least pretend, on some level, that it's not because she's the only one here, aside from Aslan of course, who knows about it.

"Because?" Caspian prods gently, his hand moving toward hers just a fraction. But just as soon as she notices it, he withdraws it back to where it was, leaving her questioning if she imagined the small motion.

"Because I'm not doing well and if I get worse…I might not be around much longer." There. Not exactly the full truth, but part of it. It's better than nothing.

Caspian seems to be at a loss for words; he looks from the ground to Miranda and back again, face surprisingly blank. But when he finally looks up and meets her eyes, she sees that he's not blank at all – his eyes are storming, raging with so many things that he's about to say. In the end though, only one thing comes out - disbelief.

"What are you saying?" Caspian says lowly, now staring into her eyes full-on, so intensely that she can't breathe and can't look away.

Miranda swallows the guilt at not telling him the whole truth and repeats what she said. "If I get much worse, I might not be around for very long."

She doesn't mean to say anything else, but more words keep tumbling out anyway.

"And as I was helping Lucy, that kept creeping into my mind. It's…I think it's scaring me."

Caspian stays silent for long moments, his gaze never wavering. Miranda starts to feel uncomfortable, but she hides it because she can understand just from looking at his eyes that this is hard for him, especially after the tumultuous events of today. He's trying to grasp it, and she's trying to understand why he's so affected by her possible departure. Surely he can't care about her that much in so little time.

"I hope you stay around for a long time, but if you do not, promise me you will at least say goodbye, if you can."

Miranda isn't sure if she can promise that, but she does anyway. Caspian has been through enough for one day; there's no need to make it any worse for him.

"Alright, I promise. But I might not know beforehand." She warns him in part because she knows it's true, but also because she doesn't entirely trust herself to uphold her end of the bargain and she needs the loophole.

"I only ask that you try, and if you cannot, I won't fault you for that."

It almost sounds like he's assuring _her_, almost as if he knows exactly what is going through her head and is telling her up front that it's okay if she can't bring herself to do it, to break the news when she knows it's time to do so. Or maybe she's just imagining it to make herself feel better.

She nods and tells him she'll do her best. "But it may not even happen," she adds. This is a blatant lie, but he doesn't need to know that. Better to give him a bit of hope now so the news doesn't completely ruin the day he won back his rightful throne.

'_At the very least, I didn't tell him on his coronation day,_' Miranda muses. That would, by comparison, have been much worse.

Caspian takes the bait; he brightens visibly at the kernel of hope she offers him and seizes on it.

"Of course. Forgive me, I've learned to be cautious."

"With good reason," Miranda reassures him and surprises them both by leaning over and taking one of his hands in both of hers. "I'll do my best if the time comes, if you promise you won't worry incessantly, alright?"

Caspian looks down at their hands and back up at her.

"Agreed." As if to seal this proposition, he lays his other hand on top of hers, sending goose-bumps up her arms that she doesn't entirely understand.

It must be that he's just warm to the touch.

Yes, that must be it. He's just warm, that's all, and her hands are cold from brushing with death so much lately.

Quickly, it hits Miranda exactly the situation she's found herself in: hand in hand with a prince – with a man stronger than her, who could probably crush her hands into splinters if he so chose.

And he's choosing the opposite. Caspian holds her hands like they are precious, delicate things, softly but with just enough strength for her hands to feel warm and cocooned. Does he even realize he's doing this, or is it instinct? Surely not the latter; he's a prince who trained in weaponry from the time he was old enough to play with sticks. So he's choosing to be so gentle with her. Why?

Miranda decides quickly that she isn't ready to look into that question, and focuses instead on not overthinking this because when she stops thinking so much, it's actually quite nice, sitting here on the edge of the forest with a prince's hands wrapped with hers. It feels comforting and…oddly…safe.

On an impulse, she decides to ask him what's been eating at him for so long. He's been just a little off since the raid, and he's kept mum on whatever it is. Just like she kept mum on her little predicament; maybe he might want to talk about his?

Miranda decides to ask him, both out of curiosity and actual concern.

"You've been out of sorts too, you know. Ever since the raid." She starts as gently as she can, but she's afraid it's not gently enough.

Caspian tenses immediately, his hands going rigid in her grip. She loosens her hold to let him pull away if he wants to, but he doesn't. Oddly, he sighs and then relaxes.

"I have not spoken of it, save to my Professor," he admits quietly, the breeze almost blowing way his words.

"Do you want to talk about it now?" Miranda asks, closing her grip again.

Caspian hesitates, his gaze returning to the ground below.

At length, he nods, almost imperceptibly.

"What happened?" she asks him, prodding gently because that's what he had to do for her.

"Miraz killed my father."

Miranda's surprised he was able to just blurt it out. She couldn't have, not something like that.

"Your uncle?"

Caspian's silence confirms what she thought. His uncle killed his own brother…

"Where is Miraz now?"

"Dead." Caspian's voice is flat and hard, so unlike what she's used to hearing from him.

Against her better judgment, Miranda squeezes his hand.

"I'm sorry. About your father," she clarifies.

"I let him go, Miranda," Caspian suddenly bites out, his lips curling back in pain. "I could have avenged my father and I didn't. I let him go."

Miranda's a bit confused now. Let who go? Miraz? When?

Caspian looks up and must see that she's not following what he's saying.

"After the duel, Peter had won and would have killed Miraz. But he didn't, he held the sword out to me."

"A kind gesture," Miranda fills in as Caspian struggles for his next words.

"I took it, and I was so sure I would do it," he says.

"And you didn't," Miranda finishes, suddenly understanding all the little puzzle pieces he's been telling her. "That's what you meant when you said you let him go."

Caspian nods, the pained lines etched into his face growing with each passing second.

"That was the noble thing to do, Caspian." Miranda squeezes his hands again, wishing she could comfort him more. "I'm not sure if I could have done that."

"I didn't want to," Caspian admits freely. "I wanted to avenge my father."

Gently, Miranda says, "But Miraz is dead now no matter; is that not vengeance?"

"Not by my hand," he grinds out.

Miranda's a bit surprised to see this anger from him after having spent a fair amount of time speaking with Aslan. Aslan's very presence calmed her.

Or perhaps he was perfectly fine with Aslan, but out of his immediate presence Caspian is still struggling with his father's untimely death and a need to make Miraz pay for that. Maybe this is the first time he's had to process this, really process it, since the battle only just ended hours ago. Miranda doesn't want to think that she could have caused this darkened mood, but she decides quickly that she couldn't have. This is about his family and now that he is Narnia's new king, of course he'd be thinking about his father.

Because she doesn't know what to say, exactly, Miranda stays quiet and just holds his hands. The same hands he wishes had ended Miraz.

"He was betrayed by one of his own. I suppose that was fitting." Caspian is clearly trying his best to find a silver lining.

"Maybe that's better than knowing Miraz is still alive and gloating?" Miranda suggests, wishing she knew better how she should help him, what she should say.

Caspian doesn't speak against this, but he still seems less than satisfied. Understandably so, and Miranda tells him this.

"It's alright to be angry about it," she says. "You don't have to feel guilty for that."

At this, Caspian snaps his head up and meets her gaze more intensely than he has yet.

"How did you know that?" he asks, perplexed and almost defensive. "I never said I felt guilty."

"We're very different, but that's one thing we sometimes have in common," Miranda explains. "I've blamed myself for things I couldn't have controlled plenty of times, trust me."

"I do."

He trusts her?

Well of course he does; he talks to her, tells her when something is bothering him, and Miranda knows he is not one to speak of his troubles normally. Maybe he does so because he's seen so many of her troubles practically laid bare before him, even if it was entirely on accident.

It occurs to her that maybe she should say that she trusts him too, but the words feel false before she even moves to form them. She only minutes ago told him half-truths instead of whole truths and there is still so much she hasn't trusted him with. No, she can't say she trusts him, not really. Not yet, at least. But she's getting there.

So instead of saying anything else that isn't completely true, Miranda just smiles a little and squeezes his hand for possibly the hundredth time in the hour. Is he getting tired of that?

Miranda wonders, but he never hints at it, never tries to pull his hands away from hers, never suggests that they return to the others. Almost absentmindedly, his thumb strokes across her knuckles in a manner that would be soothing if she'd let it be.

But as nice as all this is, Miranda is starting to wonder about Lucy and how many more wounded there are out there on the battlefield who could be seconds away from death.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I think it's time I got back to helping Lucy," Miranda says at length, though she doesn't move to extricate her hands. Why that is, she can't be sure.

Caspian acknowledges this gracefully, finally releasing her hands and standing from his stump. She's grateful for this, so why do her hands feel unpleasantly cold when he withdraws his?

After he's gotten to his feet, Caspian offers her his hand as she moves to stand from her log. She takes it without a second thought and wonders at how nice it feels just to have that little contact back.

How strange; she usually hates physical contact, and here she's been for the better part of an hour, just holding hands with a prince like it's absolutely nothing.

Strange indeed.

Miranda doesn't notice that Caspian hasn't let go until they reach the bloody aftermath and Lucy runs past them, cordial still in hand. Relief floods Miranda when she sees Susan is now helping the young queen. Guilt still pricks at her for leaving Lucy here on her own, but it's lessened by the presence of the older queen.

"I think they could use my help again," Miranda says at last, only just then realizing that Caspian still has yet to release her fingers from his.

"Are you certain?" he asks her.

She remembers how she reacted at the Telmarine soldier's death at the makeshift archery range mere days ago and cringes.

"I'm sure," she tells him firmly. "They're much worse off than I am."

Caspian stares then, and her tongue almost ties itself in knots. That's right, she's dying too. And she just told him that.

"At least I'm not laying on a field," she whispers to him after making sure no one is even close to earshot.

His brows furrowed, Caspian looks as though he might question her yet again, but he surprises her; rather than asking again, he simply gives her hand one last squeeze and leaves her be. She doesn't ask where he's going, and he doesn't look back. For a moment, it's as if their conversation never happened.

Miranda doesn't mind, but in a small, ever so small and tiny way, she does.

But the alternative is feeling like the conversation did happen and that her impending demise is even more real than before, so Miranda puts it from her mind and hurries to the closest breathing body she sees.

* * *

The cleanup lasts the better part of the day, leaving everyone including Miranda exhausted. Somehow, the Kings and Queens managed to organize everyone quickly enough that the entire mass of them, Narnians and defeated Telmarines alike, can sit and share the evening meal. Well, that's the idea; many of the Telmarines are so unnerved by the Narnians' presence that they huddle in groups amongst themselves, refusing to mingle. No one is particularly surprised by this turn of events, but it casts a cloud on Caspian in particular. Miranda hasn't heard from him directly since their little chat in the afternoon, but it makes perfect sense to her. Of course Caspian is disappointed; it's his job from now on to try and forge a peace between the two groups. Miranda doesn't envy his position one whit.

For the meal, she finds herself in the company of the Kings and Queens and Aslan himself. With Suncloud sitting beside her, it's almost…cozy. Warm. Homely.

_Homely?!_

Miranda shoves that thought from her mind and puts her energy into following the conversation, though there isn't all that much of it to be had. Peter, Caspian, and Edmund are trying to hash out the beginnings of the new Narnia with its new king, but not much else is said. Lucy, of course, is cuddled up to Aslan, her head resting on the Lion's great golden shoulder, and she seems content to remain quiet. Susan, too, doesn't say much, and Glenstorm is naturally taciturn. Reepicheep's lack of remarks is the most surprising. Miranda can only chalk it up to his awe in the presence of the Great Lion and perhaps distraction at his new tail. He has, after all, been staring at it for the better part of an hour now.

"Are we staying here for a few days?" Miranda finally asks Susan as quietly as she can, to keep from disturbing the others' conversations.

Susan shakes her head. "Caspian needs to be crowned as soon as possible. Half of the Narnians will stay here and collect the Telmarines, and the other half will come with us."

"The Telmarines won't try anything?"

"Not after Aslan and the river god scared them nearly to death."

"And which half am I with?" Miranda asks, nervous of the answer.

"With us, of course." Susan replies as if it's the simplest thing on earth, but Miranda's still a bit surprised. It was a much…warmer answer than she'd expected, even with the friendships she'd formed with the royals over the past week or so.

"We leave at first light," Lucy fills in, no doubt having noted her confusion.

Miranda nods and returns to her food, having nothing else to say.

* * *

Miranda wakes with a start in the dead of night, heart pounding and sweat beading on her brow.

She's unsurprised that this is yet another night she won't be sleeping through, but she also isn't used this particular method of nightly vigils. When she fell asleep just fine, she thought that maybe tonight she'd sleep soundly.

"Silly me," she mumbles to herself as she sits up and curls into the tightest ball as she can manage.

At first she thinks to just sit there like so, but soon enough the snores and sighs of the other sleepers around her have a muscle in her arm twitching and cold sweat beading in her palms. It feels like the sleeping sounds are hiding something in the dark, even though she knows it's only Narnians and Telmarines around here. Well, that's not altogether reassuring; Telmarines were not, exactly, known for their magnanimity.

So Miranda gets to her feet and plods toward the river bank, the pebbly ground rough without her shoes. Maybe dipping her toes in the river will relax her enough that she can get back to sleep for a few hours before the long trip to the castle.

Her mind still foggy and nervous, Miranda sits down at the edge of the river and slips her feet into the rushing water. The river rushing over the stones quiets her thoughts, just as she'd hoped it would.

"What troubles you, Daughter of Eve?"

Somehow, the Lion's sudden appearance beside her isn't frightening; if anything, it's a relief.

"I don't know," she answers honestly. "I just couldn't go back to sleep."

Aslan comes and lays down beside her, his two great front paws just dipping into the river.

"It will happen at the right time," the Lion murmurs to her, the warmth radiating from his hide almost making her drowsy again.

"I'm not so worried about that," she admits. "I just wish I knew if it would be sooner or later."

Aslan stays quiet beside her, his golden eyes drawing her own to his face.

"Will it be soon, Aslan? Is it to be soon, do you think?" Miranda finds herself whispering, half-hoping the river will wash away her words.

"I call all times soon," Aslan replies, the warmth from his breath brushing the top of her head and giving her goosebumps as it competes with the cool water on her toes.

Miranda isn't altogether surprised, nor is she disappointed. That last bit is unlike her, but all in all she feels just a bit better about her limited days than she did when she first woke. It must be Aslan that's soothing her; Miranda is fairly certain that feeling alright about one's death is not entirely normal.

"What about my family?" she asks. "Will they be alright? And Leila?"

"They will miss you as much as you will miss them." The Lion's voice is heavy and sad, like he knows exactly what she's feeling and exactly what she will feel when that time comes.

Miranda tries not to think about that any more, but it keeps bothering her, and not even the river and not even Aslan can soothe it away. How can she prepare them for her demise? How can she prepare herself, for that matter?

"What's it like?" Another question pops out of Miranda's mouth, and of all the questions she's asked tonight, this is the one she truly wishes she had kept quiet.

"Death is simply another way of sleeping, Miranda." Aslan still sounds sad, but not as much with this answer. Perhaps death won't be so bad. Perhaps it's just the idea of it that's the terrible part.

"I think I have stage fright of death," Miranda declares all of a sudden, wiggling her toes deeper into the water until it licks at the hem of her dress.

Aslan looks at her again, this time with a look akin to amusement.

"Waiting in the wings is the worst part, but once I get there, maybe it won't be so bad after all."

A low chuckle sounds from beside her, a warm and befuddled sound.

"Aslan?" Miranda speaks up again. The Lion's gaze beckons her on. "Is there any special way I should go about saying goodbye here? If there's time, I mean."

Now Aslan looks sorry again, and this time it unnerves her that he's looking at her like he knows something she doesn't, something that if she knew it too would be awful and sad.

"Aslan?" Miranda tries. She receives only the same look. "Aslan, what aren't you telling me?"

In answer, Aslan opens his great mouth and breathes on her, and the heat of it pushes away her apprehension.

"Go and rest, Miranda. It will be a long journey tomorrow."

Miranda thinks about protesting, but she's warm and sleepy now, and wouldn't it be a waste to stay up out of stubbornness?

Aslan stands with a gentle smile tilting up his whiskers and helps her to her feet.

"Come," he says, and allows her to put her hand in his mane for support as the pebbles make her unsteady.

Miranda does. They arrive back at her little designated spot, marked only by the indentation her body made in the ground, and Aslan sits as she obediently lays herself down.

"If you wish to return to your home tonight, I will make it so."

"Thank you, Aslan. I think a visit home would do some good." The suggestion helps a bit with her apprehension.

Aslan dips his maned head and lays a paw on her shoulder. Instantly, Miranda feels herself falling quickly toward sleep, her family still fixed firmly in her mind.

* * *

The same beeping as usual stirs her awake in a bed that feels unbelievably comfortable after sleeping on the ground for so many nights.

"Miranda? Oh my god, Miranda?!"

"Yep, it's me," Miranda tries to say, but she quickly finds that her tongue is dry and sticks to the roof of her mouth. Only a scratchy, warbled sound comes out.

Her eyes don't want to open either; the lids feel glued together. But with a bit of effort, they slide open and Miranda can finally see a blurry image of her friend crying and grabbing her forearms. Miranda winces as one of the tubes in her arm gets jostled and Leila immediately springs back apologizing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it's just…you're…you've been asleep for…" And Leila can say no more before she breaks down into a sobbing mess, her head in her hands as she slumps at Miranda's bedside.

Miranda stares down, at a complete loss what to do.

She raises one hand, or tries to, and finds that it's hard to move. At length, she manages to set her hand on Leila's shaking shoulder.

"It's alright," Miranda finally manages to say. "I'm alright, it's alright."

Leila's shaking her head before Miranda even finishes.

"But you're not!" she sobs, and Miranda has no idea what to say to that, especially when she knows its true. "You're not and you've been asleep for almost three weeks and I didn't know…we weren't sure…"

Leila trails off, burying her head in her friend's arm and hiccupping with the force of the tears.

Miranda stays still and rests her free hand on Leila's shoulder, patting occasionally in an effort to soothe her. She's not sure if it's working at all.

At length, Leila's tears seem to run their course, leaving the room silent but for the steady beep-beep of the heart monitor and the hiccups that always follow a good hard cry. Still unsure and heart-sore, Miranda waits for her friend to give her some sign that she's composed. None comes at first, and the rhythm in the room is broken by the blood pressure cuff swelling around Miranda's arm. Miranda winces; the cuff is pinching some of her skin, and she forgot how tight they get.

Leila finally looks up, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed as she regards her bed-ridden friend.

"How do you feel?" she asks quietly, catching Miranda almost completely off-guard.

"Sore," Miranda says, her voice still raspy. "Tired," she adds.

Leila sniffles.

"Alright," Miranda finishes, hoping this will somehow ease Leila's hysterics.

Her friend's bottom lip trembles and her chin quivers, but she doesn't break down again.

"I should…I mean, do you want…I should get your parents. They just stepped out for lunch," Leila stammers, standing up on knees that Miranda can see are shaking.

"I'll be here." The joke comes out flat and almost pained, because Miranda knows as soon as she says it that there will always, from now on, be the chance that she won't be here the next time.

Leila understands this too, and Miranda inwardly curses her words when a fat tear spills down her friend's face. Leila smiles to try and cover the effect, but Miranda thinks both of them can tell it's useless. On that unhappy note, Leila leaves to find Miranda's parents.

The only thing Miranda can think about is how on earth she's going to say goodbye to them.

Her gloomy thoughts only intensify when the door opens and her parents rush in with tear trails on their faces. Her mother rushes forward with open arms and mascara running down her cheeks, but her father stops short and just stands in the doorway.

Miranda is no sooner regarding her father with teary eyes than she's engulfed by her mother's arms and the fervent kisses being pressed to her brow distract her from the rest of the room.

"Hi Mom," she chokes out through the lump in her throat.

Her mother doesn't answer; she just clings even tighter, until Miranda has to bite back a grimace because the tubes in her arms are getting jostled again.

"How-" her dad has to stop to clear his throat before continuing, "How are you feeling, kiddo?"

"I'm alright, Dad," Miranda murmurs over her mother's shoulder. "I'm alright."

Her father takes this better than Leila did; he nods and seems relieved. She supposes it's better than hearing that she's in pain or scared or confused.

For the better part of what Miranda guesses to be an hour, she tries to soothe Leila and her mother while her father does his best to help her do so. The effort exhausts her before too long, but Miranda fights to keep her eyes open because an hour or so is absolutely not long enough, not when the next time she wakes up could be the last time she sees them.

But the time comes, far too soon, when Miranda simply can't stay awake any longer. And so she tells her parents and Leila goodbye for now, making sure she emphasizes that she loves them and wants them to take care of themselves. She only just hears their promises before slipping away.

* * *

**No break for her, poor thing...**

**sarahwood - That it does! I was excited to get past that because it was a real pain to write. (Battles are not my strongest suit...) Aslan was definitely a comfort to Miranda, though she still has questions for sure. Seeing if and how Miranda integrates is going to be interesting, I think. We've got a long way to the end of the story so plenty of time to explore that! **

**Review!**


	15. Arc 1: How Strange, To Say Goodnight

**So I realized my update schedule for this says every two weeks, not every week...so I've tried to compromise and do a week and a half! We're almost to the end of the Prince Caspian plot arc, which means we are approaching the halfway point of the story. So exciting!**

**And of course, thank you so much to sarahwood for reviewing so consistently, it really means a lot! Thank you as well to all the followers, favoriters, and readers. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Morning brings a flurry of activity in the Narnian camp, as those who are leaving for the castle gather their necessities and the rest keep an eye on the newly defeated Telmarines. A stream of people who wanted to sleep in the How come out to see the castle party off, their faces still wary as they glance over at their enemies from time to time.

Miranda finds herself in the midst of the five royals as the party sets out, though she can't quite gather how she got there after saying goodbye to Suncloud. He's volunteered to stay behind, and so she won't see him for a little while. The thought almost makes her lonely, but her visit home quickly presses itself back into the forefront of her mind and sadness pushes the loneliness out with ease.

After they make their way into the woods en route to the castle, Caspian nudges her arm and silently asks her if she's alright. Startled, Miranda nods on impulse and hopes her eyes don't look as heavy her heart feels. How to say goodbye…how?

Miranda half-expects Caspian to press her again, but he leaves her be, though he glances over at her more frequently than before. Perhaps he doesn't believe her, yet he holds his tongue. She makes a mental note to thank him later, when they're alone and no one else will get curious.

Around her, the Narnians are quite talkative; no doubt they're anticipating newfound freedom under the soon-to-be King Caspian. The Pevensies too are animated, but Miranda does her best to pass under the radar so she won't have to pretend and, more importantly, so she won't put a damper on the overall mood. She'd try and fool them if she thought she could, but some things aren't that easy to hide.

The day passes on, and still Miranda can't quite bring herself to participate in the jovial mood. Caspian notices, but after that first check-in, he leaves her to her thoughts. And he's swept up in the mood after a few hours anyway, though a cloud still lingers over his head. Miranda isn't sure if it's because of Miraz or the news she told him yesterday, but a selfish part of her hopes it's the former so it won't be her fault that Caspian isn't as happy as he could be.

Aslan walks with her after they've taken the midday meal, but she can't quite speak to the Lion. He seems to understand, and his eyes look sad whenever she meets them. But when Aslan looks around at the Narnians and the royals, his eyes dance with joy. That lifts her spirits just enough for a smile to peek through.

By nightfall, the party has made good progress. Caspian spends some time with Aslan, and Miranda finds herself trying to keep up with the Pevensies' conversation.

Lucy recalls her days as queen during the Golden Age with Susan and Edmund while Peter talks with Glenstorm about something Miranda can't quite make out. Try as she might, her mind wants nothing more than to tune out and sit in melancholy. How to say goodbye here? How to say goodbye _there_?

Susan says something to her, and Miranda forces a nod and a smile hoping it was a statement and not a question. Confused, Susan doesn't ask what's wrong but her eyes say she knows something is up. Miranda tries another smile, and Susan seems to understand.

"I'm just a little tired is all," Miranda says as a mostly true excuse. She _is_ tired, exhausted even, but it's no about the previous day's battle.

"If you want to talk, I'd be happy to listen," Lucy offers, somewhat out of the blue.

"Thanks Lucy." Miranda smiles a third time, a bit more genuinely than before. Even if she has no intention of taking up Lucy's offer, it's comforting.

The evening meal passes in silence for Miranda, though everyone around her remains as animated as before. When the time comes for bedtime, Miranda finds a place first and pretends to fall asleep almost instantly.

She waits until the snores start and then Miranda opens her eyes. As soon as she sees everyone around her is indeed asleep, she gets up and goes to find a quiet spot to try and work out what on earth she's supposed to do.

Just the mention of her impending goodbyes has Miranda sinking to the ground with her head in her hands. If she thought the memories of _him_ were bad, this suffocating feeling of helplessness to keep her family and best friend from being hurt is even worse.

She's so lost in thought that she almost doesn't hear the footsteps approaching her. So when she finally notices, she can't be blamed for her cry of surprise and the tear that's jostled from her eye when she whips around, can she?

There's Caspian, hands up and apologizing as she lurches to her feet. Miranda tries to stare him down, to glare at him like she thinks she should, but the façade melts before she can even put it up and she's falling back to her knees. Her hands fly out in front of her to catch herself before she tips into the dirt.

At once, her parents' faces dance before her eyes and Leila's sobs ring in her ears like it's all happening again. They don't stop, no matter how hard she tries or inwardly screams that Caspian is seeing her breaking and she has to stop it right now.

She thinks he's saying her name and asking if she's alright, but she can barely focus on his words right now. She just has to sort herself out for the next few minutes; how hard can it be?

The fact that he's interrupted her attempting to do just that isn't helping.

"Later," she finally gets out, even as the memories of the three people she's about to hurt press in on her chest until she can barely breathe.

A warm and calloused hand touches her shoulder; Caspian didn't listen, did he?

So she tries again. "Later," she tells him again, more firmly this time.

"I can't leave you like this," he answers, softly and yet stubbornly too.

"Yes, you can." The memories leave her alone just long enough for her to finish the thought. "You have to."

"Mira-"

"I want you to." Miranda hears how the tears tearing at her throat warble her voice, but she can't quite care. Maybe if Caspian hears how hard she's trying to hold everything in, he'll leave her be like she's asking.

His hand returns to her shoulder and his arm follows, until he's sitting next to her and gently tugging her toward him. Silently, she wonders if she should allow this, if it's too close or too familiar, but by the time she finishes wondering her head is resting on the king-to-be's shoulder and his arms are wrapped around her.

"I don't want to cry in front of you," she warns, because she's dangerously close to tipping over that edge.

His hand brushes her hair back as it starts to spill across her cheek.

"It's alright," Caspian says.

Miranda wants to mumble back that of course it's not alright, she has a policy of only crying on her own thanks very much, but the words catch in her throat when Caspian's hand cradles the side of her face for the briefest moment. It should frighten her; most contact does. So why does it only feel sweet and almost tender, so pleasant that she can't wish it away?

Miranda opens her mouth to protest anyway, on principle, but Caspian anticipates and hushes her. She stiffens when he puts a finger over her lips. Silently looking down at her, he suddenly seems to understand and removes the digit, and his hand shifts down to clasp hers.

She considers whether to move away or not. On the one hand, Caspian is warm and the night air is a little chilly, and the way he's trying to soothe her is actually helping her hold it together. On the other, she still hasn't known Caspian for very long at all, and she normally doesn't like physical contact anyway. But then, what of their little talk the other day, when she held his hand and he held hers? She shouldn't have liked that either, but she did. Much like this.

"Do you wish to speak of it?" Caspian whispers against her hair, breath tickling her forehead.

Does she wish to speak of it? Yes, and no. Miranda isn't quite sure; perhaps she would like to talk it out just to get it off her chest, but does she necessarily have to talk it out with Caspian? She's already told him far more than she should have, anyway.

But couldn't she also argue that he's told her quite a bit too, and it's only fair if she opens up a little more in kind? In theory, the reciprocity makes sense, even if the idea of being obligated to do anything makes her hackles rise.

"I don't know," Miranda finally whispers back.

She doesn't expect him to understand that; if anything, she's bracing herself in case he decides to push her. So when he says nothing, confusion wrinkles her brow and she lifts her head to look at him straight on.

Caspian still doesn't say anything, and she can't read the expression in his eyes.

"Is it your family?" he asks at last.

It is, but how did he guess so easily?

Miranda opts not to reply; instead, she returns her head to its place on Caspian's shoulder. A tear is threatening to fall, but maybe if she can avoid sniffling, it'll pass unseen.

She succeeds in resisting the sniffles, but another lone tear wants to spill over too. If she lets enough of the pesky drops escape, Caspian will notice his shirt getting wet. If she's honest, she's quite lucky that he didn't notice the first one.

Just then, the second tear spills. Miranda's nose is starting to run in earnest now, and it tickles. She could sniffle, but then Caspian would know for sure that she's crying and she'd rather not have that.

'_If he doesn't know already_,' she thinks bitterly to herself. What happened to not crying in front of other people? Where is that rule now?

In spite of that thought, a third drop follows the second, and a fourth, until silent tears are streaming down Miranda's cheeks and she can't quite pull herself together enough to stop them. If Caspian didn't notice before, he's surely noticed by now; she can feel a wet patch on his shirt under her cheek where her tears have leaked.

But even though she knows it has to be painfully obvious, Caspian doesn't say anything. His arm only tightens around her shoulders a little, little bit and his thumb rubs soothing circles on her palm, yet he says nothing about Miranda's silent crying. In her mind, she thanks him for the discretion.

They stay like that for a while, until the sky fades to gray and the first streaks of pink stain the horizon. Miranda pulls her head from Caspian's shoulder and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. For his part, Caspian stays as quiet as before. When she starts to scramble to her feet, he takes her hand and helps her up, whether out of chivalry or concern.

At first, neither of them says anything. Miranda stares at the ground in embarrassment, but she can feel Caspian's gaze on her. Well, she'll have to meet it at some point, right? Maybe it's best to get it over with. So she risks a glance up at the prince.

She finds nothing but warmth.

"Sorry," she mumbles, half-hoping her words will fly into the dirt and die there. As soon as she finishes the apology, her eyes flit back downward, as if the leaves and earth are the most interesting things she's ever seen.

Gentle fingertips tip her chin back up, and it almost doesn't occur to her to be afraid. By the time she remembers that she should be uncomfortable, she's already meeting Caspian's eyes again.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he tells her, so seriously and so earnestly that she's taken aback. All she can do is nod once in reply.

By some sort of unspoken agreement, he ends up walking her back to her sleeping corner and it's there that they say goodnight. Miranda wonders why they even do that; they've never really said goodnight before, not really. Not like this, with him clasping her hands in his and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and murmuring "Goodnight" as if it's something between only the two of them and nothing else in the world matters.

And even stranger, Miranda finds herself murmuring it back and leaning into the light touch instead of away from it. What's so different about tonight?

She's still left wondering when she finally beds down for the minutes she has left of the night. Caspian leaves her then, but she doesn't miss that he returns to their sitting spot. When she's woken just after dawn, he's still sitting there.

* * *

The rest of the travel to the castle passes with surprising calm. More often than not, Miranda finds Caspian walking at her side. She never questions him, though she wonders why he's suddenly seeking out her company more than before. By her reasoning, if he has a reason for this change in behavior and he wants her to know, he'll tell her, and if he doesn't then he won't.

Susan notices the change too, and asks Miranda about it one night when they're within a day's journey of the castle. Almost sheepishly, Miranda admits that she's confused by the whole thing and isn't sure what to make of it herself. And when Susan smiles and tells her that she's lucky, Miranda is only more perplexed than ever. What does that mean, she's lucky?

In her confusion, Miranda discretely asks Lucy what her sister might have meant the next day when Caspian's distracted talking with Peter.

"I'm not sure," Lucy admits. "I did wonder if there was something there, but I don't think it went anywhere."

"Alright then," Miranda mumbles, still at a loss. She quickly decides that enough is enough and if Caspian wants to walk with her, she's not going to ask why.

By the time they arrive at the city, Miranda is more than content to just blend into the people around her. Prince Caspian and Aslan lead the way into the city surrounding the castle, closely followed by the four Kings and Queens. The reversal from their arrival at the How isn't lost on any of them, Miranda thinks.

The city, surprisingly, takes their group rather well. Maybe it's the sight of Aslan or the booming announcement of Caspian's kingship that keeps them from trying to push back, but whatever the case, Miranda can practically feel the collective sigh of relief when they march through unopposed.

It's good to see things going well.

* * *

Aslan doesn't waste any time in crowning Caspian king; as soon as possible the next morning, the coronation takes place in the council room of the Telmarine castle, with the lords present. Miranda quickly finds that even though it's quite the privilege to be there to see Caspian being crowned, the unfamiliar Telmarine men in the room make her a palms sweat and her legs cramp and her head swirl just a little. But then, Caspian did ask her directly to be there, so she tries her best to ignore the fear prickling at her skin for his sake.

Once the Telmarine crown is placed on Caspian's head with Aslan's blessing, she finds him looking to her for the briefest moment. Part of her wishes he wouldn't, but another part is flattered, even happy. It's then that she realizes that slowly but surely, Narnia is starting to change her.

* * *

The coronation is followed by a parade through the city. Apparently, Caspian and Peter agreed that it would be best for the Telmarine people if their new king went down into their midst, especially since Miraz took pleasure in elevating himself. At least, that's what Miranda's gathered.

Susan and Lucy convince her to join them in the parade, so Miranda reluctantly mounts up and rides behind them. How they managed to talk her into the ordeal, she will never know.

Out in the streets, it's not so bad as she thought it would be; the crowds cheer and seem genuinely happy to have Caspian as their king. With what Miranda's heard of Miraz, she's not too surprised. As the throngs are quite preoccupied with the new king and the legendary old Narnian monarchs, she can pass relatively unseen. Once the initial urge to bolt and hide somewhere passes, it's easier to let the general good mood rub off on her. Caspian is the happiest she's ever seen him (she caught a glimpse of his first real smile since she met him as he turned a curve in the road) and that's enough to get her through the rest of the parade.

* * *

Immediately upon returning to Caspian's new castle, preparations for a celebration begin. Miranda asks if there's anything she can help with as a courtesy, but when everyone she asks tells her there's nothing for her to do, she can't help her sigh of relief. Maybe she can find some forgotten corner of the castle to recharge before tonight? Susan was saying something about a dance or a feast, or maybe she mentioned both and Miranda can't recall which one they decided to go with. After all, Telmarine traditions were different than Narnian, but they had to try and accommodate both cultures if Caspian was to be king of them.

A task much easier said than done, but Miranda quickly decides it's not her concern; her help is not needed, thanks be to Aslan, and so worrying over how it will work would accomplish nothing.

Quickly, Miranda finds that any quiet part of the castle will be well away from the main floor. Heading up a spiraling staircase, she soon finds herself in a tower, winding toward the top with her hand on the cool stone wall. A tower will be quiet, and no one should accidentally stumble onto the spot.

And since the whole point of this endeavor is to be alone, Miranda finds herself spectacularly annoyed when she shoves open a heavy door only to see someone else standing there looking out at the city. She's just turning to hide her frown when they notice her presence.

"Miranda?"

Ah, so it's the newly crowned Caspian up here seeking a quiet moment. Miranda's annoyance simmers down considerably and she can pretend that she was not, in fact, biting down darkly sarcastic commentary.

"I didn't expect to see anyone here," she answers truthfully as she turns back around. "I can go if-"

Caspian shakes his head.

"I would appreciate the company."

At first, Miranda isn't sure what to say. Talking with Caspian is most definitely not a novelty, but talking so completely alone is. Still, when it comes right down to it, Caspian is just a friend who'd like some company, and Miranda can't come up with a good enough reason to leave now. So she goes to stand beside him, resting her arms on the cool, rough stone blocks.

At first, she feels like she should say something, just because the silence feels oppressive, like there's something both of them are refusing to say. Caspian looks over at her twice, and both times he opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but then he closes it before any real sound comes out. After the second of these attempts, Caspian clears his throat and Miranda finally decides that she really ought to try and break the tension.

"What is it?" she asks.

Again, Caspian tries to say something, and again he stops short, ending the almost-reply with a shake of his head. Miranda watches him closely; she can't guess what he's trying to get out unless she studies him a little.

At once, Miranda thinks she understands.

"Your father," she states simply, and yet so softly too. "Are you thinking about him?" Where is this soft and caring side of her coming from? Hasn't she already learned how getting close to people ends?

Caspian hesitates at this; his jaw clenches and releases, his knuckles turn white as he grips the stones beneath his fingers. Casting his eyes down and studying his hands as if they hold the answers he's looking for, Caspian doesn't look at her as he nods. Almost against her will, it all makes sense. He now holds the same title as his father, and hearing himself called King Caspian must be reminding him all too much of his family tragedies.

Maybe it's their unexpected friendship that gives Miranda the courage, or maybe it's because she's grown to care for him enough that her demons don't matter so much, or maybe it's just that he looks so lost and alone that she can't really do anything else. Whatever the reason is, Miranda finds that she can't withdraw her hands from his once she's put them there. If she's honest, brutally honest with herself, the human contact feels…nice. Safe. It feels like maybe not everyone will try to break her, and maybe the young new king beside her is one of those exceptions to the hitherto universal rule.

When she glances at him again, the lines in his brow and the creases around his eyes have lessened a bit, though his hand is still tense under her own. Miranda realizes something else, with a clarity so startling that it makes her see white spots for a moment: he needs her. Right here, right now, the new king of Narnia, Caspian, needs her.

He makes a tiny, tiny move in her direction, so slight that at first she's sure she imagined it. But he shifts back away, almost guiltily; no, it was not her imagination, he really did move and now he's withdrawing, afraid of scaring her off. Miranda almost reminds him of the night she cried on his shoulder, that if she wasn't scared off then, she won't be scared off now. But the levity feels out of place. So instead, Miranda does what she can't remember doing with anyone for a very long time: she moves toward him.

She shuffles sideways until her shoulder presses against his, but they were standing close enough before that it's the work of barely three inches. With a deep breath to steady herself and calm the spike of apprehension in her chest, Miranda lifts her arm and slips it across his back.

Caspian is just as surprised by her gesture as she is; for the first few moments he freezes, clearly unsure of what to do and now more worried than ever of spooking her. But she bites down on her tongue to keep away a memory that's flickering just behind her eyelids and stays as she is, with her arm around his back in an awkward half-hug. Caspian must understand then that she has no intention of breaking away, and all the tension appears to leave him in an instant. His shoulders slump, his back curves under her hand, and all at once he's leaning gratefully against her and looking so tired, so very very tired and worn and exhausted. Miranda bites down extra hard to ground herself when his cheek hits the top of her head. He stops there, as if he's aware of how much she's struggling with this new form of contact.

He needs this, she knows.

So she stuffs her trembles and her fears and brings him closer to her, closer and closer until she's wrapped both her arms around him and he's done the same. His hesitation flees at her acceptance; as before, the tension leaves him in a rush, and when his head slumps onto her shoulder, she doesn't mind nearly as much as she thought she would. He needs this, after all, and he's already done quite a bit for her.

She almost asks if he wants to talk about it, but he doesn't seem to have any inclination to do so. Caspian seems content to stand here quietly with her arms around him and his arms around her, much to her surprise.

A loud boom overhead disturbs their quiet, and Miranda tries not to tense at the startling crack that follows. The fireworks to celebrate Caspian's coronation have now begun.

Cautiously, Caspian shifts against her, lifting his head from her shoulder to get a glimpse of the lights exploding in the sky. Miranda loosens her hold on him, but when she starts to let her arms fall away he takes an extra moment to let go of her himself. Miranda's heart pounds in her ears at that, and for a wild moment she wants nothing more than to run, run out of his reach, run out of the tower, run out of the castle, run out of Narnia itself. For that wild, breathless moment, she feels trapped.

Then he releases her and the moment ends almost as suddenly as it came.

"Thank you, Mira," he says quietly, his words almost obliterated by another booming explosion of colored fire.

"You did the same thing for me," she answers, hoping the remainder of her brief panic isn't showing in how she looks at him; or rather, how she looks just to the side of him instead of meeting his gaze head-on.

From here, neither of them seems to know precisely what to do. After a few moments of saying nothing, they turn to the stones in front of them and lean onto their forearms to watch the rest of the fireworks. But wait...he called her Mira, not Miranda.

"Mira?" she asks. She was under the impression Suncloud was the only one who called her that.

Caspian shrugs and glances over at her almost sheepishly.

"It suits you. I didn't think you would mind." Even as he says this, he sounds unsure, like he's asking if she really does mind and he's expecting her to say she does.

Instead, Miranda smiles.

"I don't. I like it."

Truthfully, taking on a new name, even if it's just a nickname, feels like a fresh start to her, makes her believe she really can leave all the fear and pain behind. She thinks she's ready to forget again, though this time she knows it will always be a part of her. But perhaps, in time, she will be happy and carefree once again. Her new name really makes her believe that's possible even if just for a few seconds.

Miranda stands there with Caspian until the fireworks have run their course. The hope lingers even after they're finished and when Caspian tells her goodnight. He makes sure to call her 'Mira' again, and when the name makes her smile he smiles too. Caspian also makes a point of telling her about the celebrations tomorrow. It's nothing too elaborate because of the last-minute nature of it, but she can tell he's hoping she'll come.

"I'll think about it," she tells him.

Caspian smiles like he knows that she's bound to show up whether she actually wants to or not, especially if Lucy gets wind of it.

"The company of a friend is always welcome," he says.

Miranda simply smiles and doesn't make any promises, but she think he can tell that she thinks she will go, in spite of the unfamiliar situation and the throngs of unfamiliar people. She can always leave whenever she wants.

That night, Miranda goes to bed with a smile on her face.

* * *

**And now Caspian is king and Miranda's starting to have a tiny breakthrough...**

**sarahwood - Thank you! Miranda's feelings are definitely developing, and I think she's starting to let them crystallize. I'm glad the hospital scene went well, I'm flattered. :)**

**Review! **


	16. Arc 1: Limb from Limb

**I do apologize for the slight lateness of this chapter. Technical difficulties converged with a little stomach bug, and well, a few days later I was scrambling to finish editing because it was late. So apologies once again!**

**And of course, thank you to all the readers, favorites, follows, and especially reviewers! liz-04, sarahwood, and joycelyn. , thanks a bunch for your lovely feedback!**

* * *

**Chapter 15**

A cold and clammy hand clamping over her mouth has her thrashing to get away from it. She knows this hand.

She tries to bite down, but it moves just before she can, as if it was expecting this.

"Keep quiet, understand?"

A shiver courses through her veins, cold and unforgiving as ice, at the sound of that oily voice. Why is it back? _How?_

Thrashing won't make it go, and she barely has the energy or strength for it anyway.

She stills through force of will alone, though her pulse still shivers through her veins and her hands twitch in place. The hand moves, as she had hoped. She has to fight the urge to wipe her mouth on the pillow behind her head.

"I told you not to come back."

He waggles a finger right under her nose, reigniting her urge to shrink away.

"No, you only told me to leave. You never said I couldn't come back."

"I didn't think I had to."

He shakes his head, scraggly blond curls falling over his eyes and hiding half of his face from her. She can't read him as easily now, and it almost sets off her trembling again.

"I'll never leave, not really." He takes the waggling finger and taps the tip of her nose with it, his face uncomfortably close to hers. "And you know it."

"Go to hell." She isn't sure why she hasn't bitten off his finger yet. Someone told her that fingers were like baby carrots - very easy to chomp off.

He chuckles, a cruel sound that echoes in her ears like a curse.

"I miss you, Miranda. I'd like you to come back to my place again. We had such a pleasant time there."

She spits in his face as her answer.

"You have two seconds to leave before I scream and let everyone know you're here."

"Tsk, tsk. I had hoped you would be more cooperative," he says as he wipes her answer from his eyebrow - so nonchalantly, like it means nothing.

For her part, she just stares daggers at him, praying that he'll just go, because the fight is starting to go out of her and she can't let him see her wither. She has to be strong, constantly strong, in his presence.

Really, she shouldn't have to worry about his presence at all.

To her surprise, he straightens and brushes his hair back from his eyes. And then he says something that makes her see red and swear to every god she's heard of that she'll dismember him herself, piece by piece.

"I'm sure Leila will be more amenable."

"Touch her, and I'll kill you." She's never threatened someone outright before, but she means it. It terrifies her that she means it, but she does, and she can't find it in her to feel sorry.

"I always did like a little fight," he tells her with a grin that spans his whole face and leaves her with a sick feeling all over.

"You think I'm joking?"

He leans in until his nose is almost touching hers. She tries not to gag at the heavy smell of spoiled food that comes from his breath.

"It's much more fun if you aren't, my dear."

He stands and walks out before she can say anything.

* * *

Miranda wakes in a cold sweat and surprised she isn't screaming.

She's up before the sun pacing around the room, unsure whether she should try and forget the encounter or remember it in cold, brutal detail. If she forgets, she might not be able to warn Leila enough. If she remembers…she knows she will quickly find herself back at square one.

Thoughts swirling and heart pounding, Miranda stops pacing in favor of sitting at the foot of the bed and curling up into as tight a ball as she can manage. That works, until images and screams flood her mind and she has to jump away from the bed like it's made of poison. She tries the sofa next, but she keeps thinking _he's_ on the other side that she can't see and soon she can't take that either. Then comes sitting in front of the door, but then she thinks that if someone is going to come inside she'll want to see the door handle before she feels the door open, and so she winds up in the center of the room facing a mirror. This way, she can see all around her and nothing will sneak up.

Logically, Miranda knows that almost no one will be coming to her room before the sun is even up, yet she can't think of anything but the what-ifs and how to prepare for each and every one of them.

How can she warn Leila if she's dying? She could die the next time she wakes at the hospital. She'll have to try, she'll have to do everything she possibly can do. She can't even think about the consequences if she doesn't make sure Leila knows what's going on.

Just as she was learning to hope, now this happens. Miranda can't help but wonder if the cosmos is purposely against her climbing out of the veritable hole her demon shoved her into, and keeps shoving her into. In a few moments she can dismiss the idea as ridiculous, but deep down she can't help but wonder just a little bit. What has she done to merit this?

Miranda stays curled up in the middle of the room until the sun rises, and a little bit after that too. Every creak both freezes her in her spot and fills her up with the un-ignorable need to flee. The combination of the two renders her nearly helpless, with nothing to do but stare at the mirror and wait for someone to come crashing through the door.

The time indeed comes when that handle turns, and Miranda finds that she's stuck where she is, too afraid and unsure to move. Even when the door swings open and it's only a maid coming in, she can't quite convince her limbs to pick her up from the floor.

"Best get up miss, breakfast is within the hour," comes the lilting voice with that almost Spanish accent.

Miranda wants to say she's not hungry, but her tongue feels like it's frozen to the roof of her mouth.

"Miss? Are you well?"

Miranda has to say something, or the whole thing will look even stranger than it already does.

"I'm fine," she finally manages to say. "Just getting my bearings."

It's a flimsy excuse if ever she's heard one, but it apparently holds up well enough; the maid doesn't ask any more questions. It occurs to Miranda as she's turning to go just how rude her silence must seem, so she clears her throat and tries to make amends.

"Sorry, I've been rude. What's your name?"

The girl looks a little surprised at being addressed, more specifically at the question, but she replies with a tentative smile.

"Madia, miss."

"I'm Miranda." Miranda smiles, and it sets her more at ease when the gesture is returned.

"Breakfast is within the hour," Madia says as she finishes straightening the bed and stomping out the last embers in the fireplace. "I'm to help you get dressed."

Miranda wonders why she needs help getting dressed when the first dress Windmane gave her required no help at all, but when she goes to the wardrobe and sees complicated laces, then she understands.

"Were these already here?" Miranda asks. Some of them look a mite small for her.

"They were brought here just the other night. I am sure we will find something to fit you."

The whole thing is a bit awkward, but Miranda thinks of how much worse it could be (being helped into a dress by a male, for instance) and keeps her mouth from putting voice to her discomfort. She's undeniably relieved when she's clothed properly and Madia leaves. Unfamiliar faces are unsettling at best after such a night.

Miranda has half a mind to skip breakfast altogether just so she won't have to exhaustively hide her shaken state, but she also knows that if she does not go, the questions will come even swifter than if she does and simply appears on edge. So she grits her teeth and starts toward the dining room that Madia was kind enough to give her directions to. Already, just standing outside, she can hear easy chatter and cordial greetings being passed around. Miranda takes an extra minute to try to hide away the turmoil she knows must be in her eyes before opening the door and stepping inside.

Thankfully, her entrance goes almost wholly unnoticed. Unfamiliar Telmarine faces are here, but so are the Pevensies and Caspian. On the whole it's not as bad as it could be. Miranda thinks that maybe, if she makes a mantra of that and repeats it, she'll get through breakfast without bolting or screaming.

Miranda's surprised when she manages to do just that, though she barely says more than ten words the entire time. She only looks up from her food four times, two of them to answer a question addressed to her by Susan. One of them is to reply to something Peter's said, and that takes a bit more determination on her part. Even though she knows Peter well enough now that she wouldn't be afraid of him under normal circumstances, the memory of last night is still too fresh and she can't meet his eye without knowing she'll fall apart, that it won't be Peter in front of her.

When breakfast is over, Miranda scurries away as quickly as she can and squirrels herself away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. Preparations for a coronation celebration are underway and will be for another day or so, and she'd rather not get in the way while she tries to pull herself together.

She wanders about without really knowing where she's going, wanders until she feels a breeze on her face and realizes she's at the same tower as last night. This time, however, she has the place to herself.

The only thing she can think about, over and over, is his face as he told her he hoped Leila would cooperate. Amenable, that's the word he used. Miranda thinks her blood might actually boil in her veins just at the thought of that demon going after her closest friend. What had Leila ever done to deserve that demon's shadow? And when that loop rests in her mind's eye, everything she's been so good about forgetting the past week or two comes flooding back, but instead of all the horrible things happening to her, it's Leila she sees screaming, Leila crying, Leila begging him to stop and let her go.

It's too much.

Miranda feels the telltale racing of her heart and shortening of her breath begin as the blind panic threatens to drown her. She _has_ to do something, but while she's in Narnia there's absolutely nothing she _can _do.

And if she can't stop him, then it's her fault.

If Leila is made to suffer for her bad judgment all those months ago and for her refusal just last night in a hospital bed…Miranda isn't sure she can handle the fall out from that. Just the thought of it is crippling her right now, as she presses the side of her face against the stone and tries to ground herself enough that she can at least see straight.

It's not working.

Miranda doesn't know exactly how long she stays up there on the windy tower, clinging to her sanity only by the barest of threads, but when she finally straightens from her crouch and finds that she can breathe without her head spinning the sun is sinking in the sky.

"Hours," she murmurs to herself. Hours she's been up here falling apart. It feels so much shorter than that.

She should return to her room to freshen up, in case anyone comes looking for her. Most of her doesn't care one whit what she looks like right now, red eyes and runny nose and pinched face be damned, but she thinks she'd rather clean up and at least be able to pretend on the outside that everything is okay. These are her problems after all, and not anyone else's. She'd prefer to keep it that way, especially because she doesn't think she could even begin to talk about what's wrong.

Miranda barely pays attention to where she's going on the way down from the tower. That is, until her shoulder collides with someone else's and she whips around to apologize.

She freezes as soon as she does, because she recognizes this man. He was one of the soldiers she helped trick, back during the nightly raids. And now he recognizes her.

"I remember you," he says with an angry scowl. "You helped the Narnian rebels steal our weapons, didn't you?"

She has to get out of here, has to get away from this man. He's dangerous, she can see the telltale glint in his eye. She knows the look of a dangerous man all too well.

Miranda stumbles away, or tries to, but his hand clamps around her arm in a vice grip and she's left struggling and trying to find the words to tell him to let her go _now_.

"What's the matter, little missy? You frightened?"

Where is everyone else? Why did the hallway have to be abandoned now of all times? Miranda curses her self for seeking solitude, no matter the excuse.

The soldier leans in with a snarl that turns her blood to ice.

"You should be."

"Let me go." Miranda has no idea how she spat out the words with so much venom, but she's relieved at least her voice knew what to do.

"Why?" the soldier says, his face so uncomfortably close that she can smell what he had for lunch. Smoked meat of some sort, she thinks.

"Let. Me. Go." Miranda isn't expecting him to do so, but she figures she'll give him one more chance before she lets her need to flee take over and she rakes her nails down his face. She does have one arm still free, after all, a fact he seems to have forgotten.

"I do not take kindly to being ordered about by a girl," growls the soldier, tightening his grip from vice to bruising.

He's out of chances, and she's out of patience.

In a desperate swing, Miranda takes her nails and slashes across his face just as she envisioned doing moments ago. A howl of pain fills the air and the hand on her arm loosens just enough that she can break free and bolt down the hallway.

And bolt she does; everything flies past at a dizzying speed, and she ignores the strange looks that come her way. She's through with caring what other people think, at least for the moment. All she can focus on right now is getting away and making herself safe, whatever that takes. Because if something happens to her before she can go to sleep…Leila won't know what's coming after her until it's too late.

Miranda crashes past the door to her room and throws it shut behind her. She can barely breathe from her mad dash through the halls, but it seems to have paid off – she can't hear any footsteps coming after her. Not for the moment, at least.

All at once, Miranda's legs give out and she sinks to the floor like she did this morning, with her back to the door and her front to the mirror so she can see everywhere in the room.

Maybe now she can take some time to get herself under control; she knows this level of frantic terror is very bad and she'll pass out for sure if she can't get her heart rate down and her breathing back under her control.

Just as she's beginning the process of slow, deep breaths, a knock comes at the door.

'_Of all the times_,' she thinks.

"Who is it?" she asks when a second knock follows the first.

"Caspian. Miranda, are you alright?"

What is Caspian doing knocking on her door in the middle of the afternoon? Doesn't he have a whole host of new responsibilities to contend with?

"I'm fine," she lies.

The door opens slowly and then she's meeting Caspian's eyes in the mirror and wishing he wasn't so damn stubborn.

"I'm fine," she tries again. "Don't you have things to do?"

That sounded much more hostile than she intended, but maybe it's for the best. After all, there's nothing he can do about any of this, and it'll be better if he's not worrying with her problems on top of his own.

"I saw you running," he says, walking toward her hesitantly after he closes the door, like he's afraid of setting her off.

He's right to be worried about that, though she doesn't say so.

He catches a glimpse of her in the mirror again and walks a little faster.

"Mira, what happened?"

"There's nothing you can do," she whispers. She thinks she should tell him to go and leave her be, but she can't quite force the words from her mouth.

He's close now, close enough that if he sits down next to her he'll be within arm's reach. She expects him to stop where he is, but he doesn't. Caspian continues forward until he's right beside her. She stiffens when he leans down; any proximity is too much right now.

He either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Caspian take a seat next to her and covers one of her hands with his own. She tries not to think about how easy it would be for him to grab her, but she can't quite help it, not with the events of the past twelve hours replaying in her head like a movie reel.

"I need to sort this out on my own," she says then, even though deep down she knows she'd like the company for just a few minutes. He's a friend and she trusts him, underneath all this newly awakened fear.

With what he says next, she thinks he might just know that she wants him here just enough she can't outright tell him to go away.

"You don't have to," he murmurs, giving her hand a little squeeze as he does.

It's the wrong thing to do, but how could he have known that? Yet Miranda finds she's spun away from him and sprung to her feet before she's remembered who he is.

"I…I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice breaking as she does. "I can't…it's not…"

This is her breaking point. This is worse than kneeling by a river's edge thinking of how to say goodbye to her family, of how much they'll miss her and how helpless she is to stop that pain from visiting them. This is everything crashing down at once, and this time there's no way to stop it. She has nothing left now, no strength to keep from crumpling to the floor.

Two arms catch her as she goes and keep her from tumbling down in one senseless heap. Miranda isn't quite sure how the whole thing happens, but when she's blinked the tears from her eyes, she realizes Caspian is holding her up. He's sitting at the foot of her bed and cradling her against his chest, uncaring that she's ruining his shirt.

"It's alright," he whispers into her hair as he smoothes it from her forehead. "Everything is alright."

She wants to scream that nothing is alright, but something about the way he's holding her stops the words before they even tickle at her throat. He tells her again and again that everything will be alright, so many times that she almost starts to believe him. Then she'll remember the demon threatening her friend and begin shaking all over again. Sometimes, fragments of the night's events slip past her lips in a nonsensical string of syllables, and each time this happens Caspian just hushes her and pulls her a little closer. His heartbeat, faster than usual, echoes in her ear and quiets her raging mind after a while.

Sometimes though, her mind snaps and she forgets who he is and struggles against him, struggles until he reminds her with gentle touches and reassuring words. Those moments always take a while for her to come down from, but when she does, she sags against him in exhaustion and wonders that he hasn't left her to her own devices yet. How he stays with her for what must be an hour or more, she'll never know.

But finally, after many snaps and tears and pounding memories, Miranda finds that she's starting to calm down. At length, she returns to the present without shying back into her mind-made hell and looks up at Caspian for the first time since she caught his eye in the mirror. She searches his eyes for anger or disappointment or disgust, searches until her own eyes start to cross from her efforts.

She finds none.

"Mira." He says it like a question, like he's asking if she's feeling better now.

Hearing her new nickname relaxes her. It helps her keep grounded, and she smiles a trembling sort of smile in response. She wants to thank him, but isn't quite sure how. A simple "thank you" seems ridiculously insufficient.

Instead of answering, she ends up dropping her head back to his shoulder and taking a deep, cleansing breath. If it were anyone else, Miranda is sure she'd be panicking again at the proximity, but not with Caspian. No, Caspian makes her feel like she could be safe, like he wants her to be safe instead of scared.

"Thank you," she ends up telling him, even though she's keenly aware it's not enough.

"Did something happen?"

If only he knew how many things have happened.

Miranda isn't sure what to say, or what to tell him. Strictly speaking, she supposes she should tell Caspian about the soldier, especially since she struck him. But she isn't quite sure how to tell him without letting the whole story fly from her lips – a story she doesn't think she's ready for him to know.

She ends up sitting in silence and trying to decide exactly how to tell him. She's alright with him knowing about that soldier, but everything else…he can't help, so why burden him?

"You do not have to tell me," Caspian says.

She must have stayed quiet for long enough he knew she wasn't entirely comfortable.

"It's okay," she finds herself saying. "I kind of owe you anyway."

No sooner has she finished these words than Caspian's taken her face with both hands and looked her dead in the eye as he says, "You mustn't say that, Mira. You do not owe me anything."

She wants to believe him, but it's easier said than done. After all, what has she actually done for him?

"You will never 'owe' me," he finishes, still looking as serious as she's ever seen, even a little pained.

"I think…" Miranda clears her throat and tries again. "I think I wouldn't mind."

And moreover, with the soldier Caspian will have some possible course of action to take if the fancy strikes him; there will be no wasted energy, as there would be if she told him everything.

But once she opens her mouth to tell him about the soldier in as brief a story as possible, she quickly finds that other things spill out too. And before she knows it she's told him about the soldier and the hospital and her demon, all about her demon. Caspian doesn't quite understand the full significance of the previous night at first, though he's plenty upset just at someone going into her room and threatening her and her friend. Miranda debates internally, but before long that story is spilling from her lips too – though that one she sticks to the bare minimum. No need to blow it out of proportion.

When she's done with the entire tale, ugly bits and useless bits alike, Caspian doesn't react at first. He just stares at the ground, almost like he can barely comprehend everything she has just told him in such a small amount of time. Miranda considers apologizing, but it looks like Caspian is deep in thought and she doesn't want to disturb him.

"That is why I frightened you the first night we met, isn't it?" He speaks slowly and quietly, like he can't quite grasp the words as they're leaving his mouth. "And all the times after that…how many times did you think it was he approaching you?"

"Not so many as you'd think," she tells him honestly, because it's the nightmares and flashes that plague her more than anything.

"Last night, on the tower…" Caspian sounds nothing short of awed now, and she knows that now he understands exactly how difficult that was for her.

She only smiles at him – a tiny, tiny smile, but the first since he came into the room.

"Thank you," he tells her. This one means even more than the thanks he bestowed on her last night, because now he knows.

Then she realizes too: he knows, and he's still here.

"Wait, aren't you…I mean, shouldn't you…shouldn't you…"

Caspian just looks confused at her words, and he doesn't pull away.

"I mean, you're the king," she finally gets out.

"Yes, I am." He sounds bemused and stares down at her with a curious little quirk in his brow.

"Well, now that you know, shouldn't...that is, I should..."

Why is it so much harder to concentrate when he's gazing down at her? Is it normal, to want to smile at the flicker of amusement in his eyes?

"We shouldn't be like this," Miranda finally splutters, gesturing to their, by medieval standards, compromising position. "Isn't it different, now that you know?"

Her heart beats a little faster as she waits for his answer. Half of her still expects him to get up and leave.

He doesn't.

If anything, he looks purely appalled at the idea she just suggested.

"Mira no," he tells her. "His actions are the only shame. Not you."

Now she's confused – confused and grateful, but still afraid to believe him fully. She doesn't want him to suddenly turn on her, and if he will then she'd rather he just go ahead and do it already so she doesn't have to wait and wonder.

Caspian looks at her until she meets his eyes, and even then he doesn't seem quite satisfied.

"If it is ever in my power to tear this monster limb from limb, you may be assured I will do it at once. But I will never turn you away for what he has done."

Tears prick at her eyes at how he speaks to her. She can't even begin to come up with a response, but she thinks he can see how much his words have affected her.

They sit together until the hour for dinner comes. Miranda hesitates at first, because she doesn't want to leave the relative safety of her room, but Caspian is standing and offering her his hand, so she gets to her feet on legs that shake from the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours. Caspian steadies her, and she marvels that his touch doesn't send her spiraling in fright this time.

He even waits while she cleans the evidence of her tears and exhaustion from her face as best she can and straightens the wrinkles from her dress. She tells him he doesn't have to, but he just says that after the confrontation with that soldier, he'd rather walk her to dinner himself. He even asks her to sit with him.

At first, Miranda isn't sure what to say to that. But then again, he did sit with her for some of her worst hours, so she can't quite say no. He reminds her again that, by his mind, she owes him nothing and can do whatever she pleases.

She'll feel just a little safer with Caspian next to her, so she finally acquiesces with another of her small smiles.

There is still so much she has to do, but at least for now she can breathe.

* * *

Miranda spends the better part of the next day in her room. No one disturbs her, and she wonders if Caspian didn't have something to do with that. Given all that he now knows, she wouldn't be surprised.

He knows she needs her solitude to sort through everything. The previous evening was only scratching the surface – that was the frenzied grasping for understanding, and now comes the steadier exploration. She has to figure out exactly what to do.

The day is not wasted; Miranda keeps herself calm as she goes through her options, and even settles on the most logical course of action. She has to use every bit of her strength left the next time she wakes up to warn Leila, and in the meantime she will go to Aslan and ask for his help.

She sets out to find the Great Lion after dinner. She searches the castle minimally – she's afraid of running into the same soldier as before, even though Caspian said he would find him and ensure he never threatened her again. The soldier has not been found yet, and that was the important part. She can't have him undoing all of her hard work for today, can she?

Miranda ends up wandering in an outside garden looking for Aslan, and it's there among the flowers and vines that she finds him. At once, she knows he understands everything.

"Aslan," she greets him with a respectful, if clumsy, curtsy. "I need your help."

"I know, my daughter. Come and sit with me," the Lion rumbles in reply, leading her over to a secluded corner.

He lies down on his belly, and she has to marvel at how huge he is – even lying down, he's almost her full height. To her relief, she's not the least bit afraid. Aslan is safe, and his warm and furry self only makes her feel that much safer. She curls up against his side with a sigh of relief. Here, with the Lion all around her, she feels untouchable.

"I have to warn her, Aslan," she says as the silence starts to descend. "I can't let anything happen to her."

"That is not all up to you, Miranda. She must also decide to heed your words."

"She will, I know she will," Miranda replies swiftly. Whether she's just that confident in her friend or she just can't even acknowledge the consequences of the opposite, she can't say.

"You have asked, and now you will have all the strength you need when you see her."

The Lion's words give her unfathomable release from her burden. She's so overcome, she can only murmur a quiet "thank you" into his fur and sag gratefully against him. To her surprise, she realizes she's barely even wondering if he minds. Normally, she would.

There she sits with Aslan until the moon rises to its full height.

"Go to your chambers, my daughter," he tells her then, with a strange mixture of calmness and urgency.

It's time – she understands just from that sentence.

"There is little time," Aslan rumbles when she doesn't get up right away.

In an instant, she's gotten to her feet. She tells him goodnight briefly and rushes off toward her room, missing the Lion's warmth as she goes. It was reassuring, resting against him, but now she has to keep her friend safe from her demon and she can have more rest and reassurance later.

On the way out of the gardens, she fully understands why Aslan told her to hurry; a sudden wave of weakness hits her like a wall, and she's stumbling along rather than walking, barely able to see straight. This is what he meant about little time – he meant her life.

"I suppose it _is_ time then," she whispers as she forces herself to rush along at the fastest pace she can manage. Part of her wishes she could say goodbye to Caspian and all her new friends here, but Miranda knows that she will barely have time to get to her room as it is. Caspian and the others will understand, she's sure of it.

Oh. Tonight was the celebration of Caspian's new rule.

Of all nights.

Miranda almost sighs, but even that will cost too much energy. She wishes this was not happening on a night Caspian was supposed to be happy for, but with any hope he won't know what's happened until morning. That way, he can at least have tonight. But perhaps she's overestimating the effect her passing will have – after all, he has plenty of other people he cares about.

Just in time, she finds that she's at her door. After fumbling with the lock for agonizing minutes, she forces her fingers to work and slips inside. Almost immediately, she collapses on the floor not two feet from the door. She can't even drag herself to the bed.

"Aslan," she whispers as the last of her consciousness fades away. Now, she can only pray the Lion will give her the strength she asked for. Oddly, she's sure that he will.

* * *

**Stick around guys, the story isn't close to being over ;)**

**sarahwood - Thanks! I definitely wanted to make sure Caspian's coronation wasn't just a little blip. I made that mistake in one of my previous stories and was adamant it not happen again. Taking on a throne is a big deal, I just hope I did it justice! I'm glad you liked Miranda's role too! I was a little nervous about it because I was debating if it fitted her character, but now I'm glad I kept it. Thanks for reviewing! :)**

**Review!**


	17. Arc 1: Strength from Aslan

**Well after the last chapter everyone was insisting on an update ASAP, so I decided to go ahead and get the next chapter out a week early. ;) It has a bit of a surprise in it, so buckle up! In similar news, this story is actually divided into two arcs, and we're coming up on the end of Arc 1. Because I'm still working quite a bit on Arc 2, there will be a bit of an update gap between the two, of about a month. Two reasons: one, NaNoWriMo is coming up soon and I can only juggle so many things at once; and two, Arc 2 still has some kinks I need to work out so I'll be working on it during the update gap. Writing two stories at once isn't so bad, but writing and editing two at once gets to be a little much. **

**Alright, enough business. Thanks to every favorite, follow, and especially review. Sarahwood, liz-04, rosegold1994, and joycelyn. , special thanks to you for your incredible feedback last chapter, it really made my day!**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

This time the usual annoying beeping is faded and far away. It's like listening with cotton stuffed in her ears.

Her eyes take a while to open too; they feel sticky and unused, practically glued together. When they finally slit open, that effort alone leaves her tired, oh so tired.

She can barely make out their faces.

The two taller shapes must be her parents – she can vaguely hear them crying and saying something about holding on. The other shape must be Leila. Her friend is crying too, but it's quieter. Are those wet spots dripping on her hand – her hand, that feels millions of miles away – tears?

"Leila," Miranda tries to say. Her lips won't part enough, nor will her voice supply the right volume. She can't even move her tongue to form the name properly.

Desperately, she thinks of Aslan and begs him to help.

Moments later, her tongue unsticks from the roof of her mouth and a whisper-soft sound pushes past her lips.

"Leila," she says again.

The shape that must be Leila leans in, and tears fall on Miranda's cheeks. It's a strange thing, her body feeling light years away.

"Be…careful…" Forcing the words past her lips is sapping the already minimal energy she has, but what else can she do? Leila needs to know, Leila _has_ to know.

"What?" Is that Leila? She sounds so far away…

"You're in d-" Miranda has to take a gasping breath before she can get the last words out. "-danger," she finishes.

"Shhh," comes Leila's voice.

All in a rush, Miranda realizes she does know her demon's name.

Bates.

Maybe Leila will know it too?

"Bates," Miranda whispers hoarsely. "Be careful."

There's nothing else she can do; her breaths are becoming more and more labored with each rasp. She only has enough words left for a goodbye. She can only hope Aslan spoke true.

"I love you," Miranda coughs out. Her chest is as heavy as a semi-truck. "All of you."

That's it; there is no breath left in her to tell them anything else. She can only draw in minimal amounts of air and listen to her heart roaring in her ears as it beats slower and slower. She thought it would hurt more.

Both her hands are encased now. She can't make out who's holding on to her, but she tries to force her lips up into a smile for them.

She wishes she'd had more time.

This is the last thing on her mind as she slips away.

The last thing she knows is cold.

Then…nothing.

* * *

Nothing is something.

Miranda slowly realizes that she can feel again, can feel something other than clammy cold. She's dimly aware of lying on something hard, but beyond that she's too tired to try to decipher anything else.

It feels like hours pass as she returns to herself. She comes to understand that she's lying on the floor, and the fuzzy thing under her cheek must be a rug. When her eyes blink open, the rug is the only thing in her vision at first. Footsteps sound, but they could be miles away.

Her foot moves, just the tiniest bit, and bumps against something hard and unyielding. She isn't sure what that is at first, but she realizes it must be the door.

Narnia? She's woken up in Narnia? More importantly, she's woken up at all?

Confusion reigns as Miranda gradually pools her strength to peel herself up off the floor, bit by aching bit. She aches all over; no, she burns all over. Her muscles are on fire from just the smallest movement, and it's exhausting even just getting to a sitting position.

Blinking against a sudden light in her eyes, Miranda scoots away from the door and toward the sofa. It's closer than the bed, and a good deal lower too. Is that light the sun? It's morning?

Yes, it must be morning, even though the last thing she remembers is Aslan telling her there was little time and a vague sense of hurrying down the hall. Now there is only a blazing throbbing everywhere, no matter what she does or how still she tries to be.

Somehow, she makes it to the couch and starts the arduous process of pulling herself up, inch by inch. By the time she's made it, the entire thing has taken its toll and it's all she can do to keep herself awake. For now, perhaps she should stop trying to move so much, no matter how annoying that constant sunlight through the curtains is. Yes, staying still sounds inviting. Breathing steadily is hard enough as it is.

A knock at the door comes not too long after she's started to let her eyes drift closed for just a few minutes of rest. Miranda doesn't bother trying to answer it, not when she is painfully aware that she has no energy even to ask who it is. A second knock follows her inaction, and third after that. Madia's voice drifts through the door, asking if she's awake. Miranda starts to nod before she remembers that Madia can't see her.

The door opens, and on a whim Miranda decides to pretend to sleep, if only to spare herself the effort of forming words and answering questions and anything else she'll be required to do while awake. Letting her eyes slide closed is almost too easy anyway.

Madia comes inside slowly from what Miranda can hear. Perhaps she should stop pretending, but lying here on the couch is nice enough and she doesn't want to have to get up.

"Miss?"

Miranda resists the urge to groan in frustration and opts to stop being difficult if only to make Madia's life a little bit easier.

"Everyone is assembling in the city courtyard," Madia says the moment Miranda's pried her eyes open. "King Caspian asked after you specifically."

Miranda doesn't trust her voice to hold steady, so she just nods and starts to drag herself up off the sofa that's feeling increasingly comfortable the longer she reclines on it. To her relief and slight embarrassment, Madia notices her struggle and hurries over to help her.

"Are you feeling well, miss?"

Miranda has to speak now, so she swallows, clears her throat, and hopes that she won't sound half as awful as she feels.

"Just tired," she croaks.

Madia seems dubious that tired is all she is, but Miranda grimaces her way to a wry smile and Madia leaves it alone.

Getting ready for this meeting, what exactly it is Miranda doesn't know, takes longer than she'd have liked, but Madia is patient and doesn't ask any questions when Miranda asks her not to. Miranda makes sure to thank her for the help, and especially for her discretion.

"Of course, miss," Madia replies with a gracious smile.

Miranda thanks her once more for good measure before making her way out of the room and toward the courtyard. To her surprise, Suncloud is there to greet her. In point of fact, she opens the door just as he's raising his hand to knock.

"Suncloud?" she asks. "I thought you'd be a while yet."

He shakes his head and says, "We arrived yesterday at dusk."

Miranda instantly feels guilty for holing up in her room all day; she should have been there to say her hellos.

"I was surprised not to see you at the celebration last night," Suncloud continues as he moves away down the hall. He must be on his way to the meeting too.

"I wasn't feeling well," Miranda answers. It's not really false, but it still leaves a queasy feeling in her stomach. She doesn't like telling half-truths to her friend.

Suncloud believes her in spite of her surely obvious discomfort and even asks if she's feeling better today.

"I'm getting there," is how she phrases it. She thinks he's guessed by now that it's not something she wants to discuss, and he gracefully leaves it lie.

They arrive at the city courtyard after far too much walking. Her legs are aching more than the rest of her when they finally arrive, and she can only hope that Suncloud hasn't noticed how very stiff she is. Were anything about the situation funny, Miranda might have cracked some wise comment about walking like a penguin, but she most definitely does not want to draw attention to her strange gait, so refraining is easy.

"What's all this about?" she asks Suncloud to distract him. He is starting to look the tiniest bit worried, after all.

"King Caspian has called everyone here to address all of us regarding the Telmarines and their place in Narnia. Many of them are a bit disgruntled, you know."

She can well imagine, and she tells him so.

"They did just lose a war, after all," she says. "What do they think of Caspian?"

Suncloud shrugs almost imperceptibly.

"They are not so unhappy as they could be, but they are not entirely pleased either. Many are relieved Miraz no longer has the throne, but I think they are concerned about being allowed to stay in Narnia." As Suncloud says this, his voice darkens, particularly on the last sentence. Miranda lays a hand on his arm to say she's sorry. They both know that his brother died at the hands of Telmarines.

"Caspian will have some solution to this. Aslan won't let anything unfair happen," Miranda says in the hope that it will bring at least some reassurance to her friend. It works a bit, but she can see Suncoud is still troubled.

He does put on a brave face though, she'll give him that. She's also keenly aware that this subject is likely one he would rather not discuss at length, so she changes the subject to ask after his journey. It went well enough, by his word.

Their conversation is brought to a halt when Caspian's voice wafts above the noisy chatters of the crowd calling everyone's attention. Everyone quiets rather quickly, to Miranda's surprise.

"Narnia belongs to the Narnians just as it does to Man," Caspian begins, his stance firm and strong as he addresses his knew subjects atop the three or so stairs. He continues, "Any Telmarines who want to stay and live in peace are welcome to. But for any of you who wish, Aslan will return you to the home of our forefathers."

Miranda instantly understands what Caspian and Aslan and come up with. Anyone displeased with the outcome of the war can leave and start again, and so the peace will hopefully come a little easier.

"It's been generations since we left Telmar," someone in the crowd chimes up with doubt in his voice – doubt Aslan quickly puts to rest.

"We're not referring to Telmar," Aslan says. "Your ancestors were sea-faring brigands – pirates run aground on an island. There they found a cave, a rare chasm that brought them here from their world. The same world as our Kings and Queens."

Miranda blinks a few times to take in this new information. The Telmarines were from Earth? That would explain a few things about them, but then Miranda has to wonder just how common it is to stumble into Narnia. There were the Pevensies, and herself, and now the Telmarines as well, in numbers far greater than four.

As she looks around the crowd, everyone else is having a similar reaction: shock, curiosity, slight confusion. Even the Pevensies look surprised.

"It is to that island I can return you," Aslan continues. "It is a good place for any who wish to make a new start."

Miranda is fully expecting a long and tenuous silence to follow, but to her and everyone else's surprise, a voice wafts up from the crowd almost immediately.

"I will go," it says. "I will accept the offer."

The crowd parts and a man walks forward to the Lion. A middle-aged woman carrying a baby and another older man follow him.

"So will we," says the woman.

Caspian bows slightly to the three, and Miranda wonders if he knows them.

"Prunaprismia," Suncloud whispers to her. "Caspian's aunt. She is a widow now that Miraz is dead."

"Because you have spoken first, your future in that world shall be good," Aslan tells the trio. He breathes on them (Miranda remembers how warm and wild it feels to be on the receiving end, and the memory sends goosebumps up her arms) and then the most unbelievable thing happens: the giant twisted tree Mirands hadn't even noticed before now begins to unwind, and continues to do so until the trunks are split and a door-like opening is formed.

Miranda, for her part, can only stare on in silent wonder, but the crowd reacts less quietly. A plethora of gasps rise up, and a few even shriek in surprise and fear. But for the three who have chosen to leave Narnia, this seems only mildly troubling, and they go forward when the tree stills with only one long look at Aslan as they go.

They walk forward slowly but steadily, even up to the last moment they're at the tree. And then they disappear, almost as if they never were. Naturally, this prompts shocked yells and accusations from the predominantly Telmarine onlookers.

"How do we not know he is leading us to our death?" shouts one particularly rattled citizen.

Miranda can't quite hear if there's a reply to that or not, but Aslan looks down and smiles, and she can only guess that one of the Talking Mice is there. But then Aslan turns and looks straight at the Pevensies, and Miranda at once notices the heavy lines in the eldest siblings' faces.

"We'll go," King Peter says, stepping forward as the words leave his mouth. His face looks a little pinched, like he's sad and trying hard not to show it.

Apparently, this is not something all of them have discussed; Edmund looks confused and surprised, and says something to that effect to his older brother. Peter replies with determined sort of sadness; the only part of it Miranda can make out is, "Time's up."

Then Peter is taking his sword from around his waist and passing it to Caspian, the lion on the handle clearly visible for all to see. He's passing on his authority, from what Miranda can guess.

"I will look after it until you return," the new king says as he takes the sword with a steady hand.

"I'm afraid that's just it," comes Susan's sad voice. "We're not coming back."

Miranda understands then that her experience of Narnia is not quite the same; Aslan has not told her that her time in Narnia must come to a close, but it seems that for the Pevensies, that is the nature of their time here. It must come to an end. Miranda instantly feels sorry and wishes there was something she could do. They were good friends to her, after all.

Lucy is having trouble with this, Miranda can tell. Her child's brow is knitted in confusion and she turns to Aslan with a "Why?" even after her eldest brother has spoken to her.

"Did they do something wrong?" she adds on as she seeks some answer from the beloved Lion.

"Quite the opposite, dear one," comes Aslan's comforting rumble. The rest of his words are too quiet for Miranda to understand, but what she does know is that he's reassuring the young queen.

Peter goes to Lucy and seems to be comforting her. She looks a little more at ease afterwards, yet still not quite comfortable with the situation. But Peter leads her toward the Narnians standing by Aslan to say their goodbyes, and Lucy goes along. The four of them move down the line shaking hands and curtsying (respectively, of course) until there's no one left to say goodbye to. Well, at least, Miranda thought so. Lucy suddenly taps Susan on the arm and looks around the crowd urgently.

When the two queens spot Miranda and start to come down the steps toward her, Miranda feels her entire face flush red in a pleased sort of embarrassment. She ignores the pains in her body and walks toward them as swiftly as she is able. Luckily, Suncloud found her a nice spot toward the side, and the distance isn't so bad as it could be.

Miranda is caught in a rather tight hug as soon as Lucy comes within arm's reach.

"Take care," Lucy tells Miranda as she clings tightly.

Miranda can't help but smile at the show of affection, nor can she keep from returning the kind gesture.

"And you as well," she answers.

"Perhaps I'll see you again," Lucy says with a slightly pained smile as she steps back. "Aslan did say Edmund and I might return."

"I'll look forward to it."

After Lucy, Susan gives Miranda a hug too, though hers is more gentle than her sister's.

"I wish you all the best," Miranda says to the older queen. "Thank you both for everything."

"We'll miss you," Susan says, with a deeper sort of sadness that Miranda can relate to well.

"And I'll miss you."

With that, there's little else to say, and the two queens go back to rejoin their brothers. Susan stops on the way and speaks to Caspian quietly, but Miranda's too preoccupied with making her way back into the crowd to pay much notice. When she does look back, she notices the two clasping hands and smiling sadly. This gesture is followed by a hug that lasts a while, and Miranda for a moment isn't sure what to think. Then the moments ends and Susan steps away with watery eyes.

Mere seconds later, the four siblings have stepped through the door and disappeared as completely as the first three. This time, the crowd reacts a little less loudly, though some still shout their surprise. To Miranda's surprise, once the initial commotion dies down, quite a few Telmarines go through the door. Entire families make the leap, and Aslan looks pleased as more and more come forward to start a new life.

The whole process takes a good part of the morning, and very quickly Miranda finds that her strength just isn't where it needs to be. By the end of the first hour, she's fighting hard (and unsuccessfully) to keep from swaying on her feet. She does notice, however, that one of the many to go through the door is the soldier who confronted her only a day or two ago, and seeing him disappear gives her a brief burst of strength from the relief alone.

But by the time the exodus is winding down, Miranda is swaying and praying that her knees don't buckle under her. Suncloud notices and asks what's the matter, but she can only spout something about not feeling her best and just needing to take a seat in the shade for a moment. She waves off his worry as best she can as she makes her way to the edge of the courtyard and takes a seat on the surrounding wall, but he persists until she has to tell him that she'll be fine in a minute unless he keeps pestering her. She says it lightly, but it has the desired effect – he leaves her be.

She watches the rest of the proceedings from her seat and does her best not to fall over. Even sitting up straight is taking far more energy than it should. Distantly, Miranda wonders if she could get away with sleeping for the rest of the day and on through the night if she just tells Suncloud that she really isn't feeling good and should sleep it off.

She can only hope he doesn't ask questions. Not only is she acutely without the answers, but she's exhausted enough and answering a barrage of inquiries would not help matters. She's nowhere near ready for that; she can barely even grasp how she's here right now.

Aslan.

Miranda at once knows who she needs to talk to, and she waits patiently until everyone who is going to leave Narnia has left and those who remain are trickling out of the courtyard back to their daily business. Suncloud checks on her again, but she manages to put on a smile and tell him that she's feeling alright now and she'll be around to bug him later, perhaps tomorrow. At least, Miranda hopes she will, but maybe Aslan can help with that.

She has more than a few questions for him, anyway. And when everyone has left and only Caspian and Aslan and a few Narnians remain, she stands and hopes that Caspian will go back to the castle with the Narnians soon.

Aslan notices her waiting and beckons her over silently with his eyes. Miranda goes willingly and tries to keep from thinking any extreme thoughts, but it's difficult. Without the meeting to distract her, all she wants to think about is how on earth she's still here if she already died back home.

"Mira?" Caspian asks quietly as she comes up. She sees the question in his eyes after she hears it, and for a moment she softens. He must have noticed how rigidly she's walking.

"It looks like this went well," she replies quickly, hoping he'll respect the change of subject.

"Yes," he says. "I think it did." He's still questioning, but he doesn't outright say anything.

"Congratulations." Miranda means that, and tries to really make sure he knows she does. "Looks like you'll be a good king."

"We'll see." He's hopeful, and it's good to see.

A moment of awkward silence descends, but before Miranda can get too uncomfortable, Caspian breaks it in possibly the worst way.

"We missed you last night," he says, the concern mingling with the questioning plain as day.

"I fell asleep." That answer is the truest he will get before she can figure all this out with Aslan.

And here is the Great Lion now, looking at her as if he knows exactly what she's seeking him out to ask.

"May I speak with you?" Miranda asks instantly.

Aslan agrees and Caspian heads back toward the castle with the remaining Narnians, just as she had hoped. Maybe they understand this conversation is important and needs to be private.

As soon as they're out of sight and earshot, Miranda stops trying to keep her eyes from welling up.

"Did you know, Aslan?" Miranda blurts out as her body trembles a little from holding itself up. "You did know, didn't you?"

The Lion doesn't reply at first, and Miranda finds that she just keeps going.

"I died, Aslan, I died and now I wake up here like it was all a dream. What happened? I know you know what happened, you must!" By the end of this, Miranda is crying openly and has to accept the Lion's help in standing upright.

"Miranda-" he begins to say.

She can't help her impatience; she interrupts.

"Tell me!" she cries, sinking to her knees and letting the weight of it all pull her down towards the earth.

"Peace, Miranda!" Aslan's growl cuts right through her swirling thoughts and stills her at once.

She feels a bit ashamed, and that feeling only grows as the Lion looks at her in silence. Maybe she shouldn't have raised her voice like that.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking down at the ground rather than meeting the Lion's eyes.

A warm rush of calming air sweeps over her, and she looks up in surprise. Aslan offers her help then, and with the Lion at her side she makes her way back to the wall and sits once more.

"Why?" she asks him, the pained realization of what waking up must mean starting to rush about again.

"Your second chance must not be taken from you so simply."

Miranda feels the white-hot burn of anger rushing through her, but she tries to stifle it in the interest of not incurring the Lion's scolding again. Sadness quickly follows the anger, and that drains her once more.

"I don't understand," Miranda whispers brokenly, at last meeting Aslan's gaze with tears in her eyes. One by one, they spill over onto her cheeks and drip off her chin and onto her hands.

Aslan offers her nothing but silent comfort; no words pass between them, but Miranda gets the tiniest sense that he's not angry with her now. She hesitates, but the Lion even allows her to cry into his mane, a privilege she's sure not so many can claim to have experienced. That alone helps her calm down.

"Am I never to see them again?" she hiccups in between sobs. She was prepared to die, but she was not prepared to go on in Narnia, having to miss her mom and her dad and her best friend in all the worlds she knows, wishing she could have helped them somehow day in and day out.

"Peace, Miranda." This time, there is only gentleness.

"I'm so tired, Aslan," she tells him as her crying winds down.

"You will recover in time, but for now you are weary. Rest."

She almost asks the Lion what he means, but when her head sags against his side again and she doesn't have enough determination to pick it up again, she thinks she might understand.

Aslan lets her stay there until the tears on her face have dried and she thinks her nose might not be so red. When she wonders aloud if she should return to the castle, Aslan breathes on her and sends her on her way with a reassuring rumble.

When she looks back, he's disappearing into the door the tree made. After he's passed through, the tree twists itself back together again and all is quiet.

Miranda finds that she has just enough vitality left to get to the castle and her room, but the moment she sees the bed she sinks down without even bothering to get out of her clothes and into her nightclothes. Within moments, she's lost to the world of dreams.

* * *

**Anyone surprised how that one played out? ;)**

**sarahwood - Miranda definitely would feel some relief, but also apprehension I think. She's not used to telling people about it, and now that she's opened up it can cause a whole other host of insecurities. Lovely kettle of fish, isn't it? Though Caspian might be able to help...  
I'm glad the hospital scene hit home! I thought it was important that we see a little more of the little devil himself though Miranda's eyes. Leila will certainly hold some significance later, especially at the end of Arc 1! **

**Review!**


	18. Arc 1: Take My Hand, And Do Not Let Go

**Sorry this is late getting out guys! The good news is that we're almost to the end of Arc 1.**

**Thank you to joycelyn. for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter ****17**

She wakes the next morning feeling every bit as lethargic as before. If anything, she feels worse.

The knock on the door seems a thousand times louder than it really is, and Miranda really doesn't have the energy to answer it. Hell, she can barely manage to lift her head from the pillow. So she ignores the rapping at the door and sinks back into the bed.

To her chagrin, the door opens and in bustles a slim woman with a firm frown and a snap in her step.

"Lady Miranda, what on earth are you doing still in bed? Breakfast was an hour ago!"

Miranda has to take a moment to remind herself why swearing loudly at people is never a good idea. No matter how grating their voices sound in the morning. And why is Madia not the one waking her up? Madia was much nicer about it.

"I wasn't especially hungry," she offers at last. Her excuse is met with a raised eyebrow and a guffaw.

"The king has been asking after you, my lady. In future, I would advise you to go anyway."

"Noted," Miranda mutters under her breath.

The woman regards her with hands on her hips, frown still firmly in place.

"Do you intend to stay in that bed all day? Up with you!"

Miranda is nothing short of incredulous. If she wasn't so crabby she'd be amused, but right now all she wants to do is go back to bed, perhaps for a solid week, and not emerge to face the world until her strength is returned.

"If I get up, do I have to stay up?" Miranda is sure that this sass is only coming out of her mouth because she's too tired to bother with being polite, but it most definitely does not have the effect she was hoping for.

The blankets are snapped from her quicker than she can protest, and the suddenness of the action startles her so badly that she tumbles out of the bed in a heap with the covers.

"As I said, up with you," the woman says matter-of-factly with a smirk that isn't the most subtle Miranda's ever seen.

"I'll be getting dressed then." Miranda tries not to sulk on the way to the wardrobe, but it's a battle she can't say she wins.

The woman harrumphs her approval and sets about cleaning the room, starting with making the bed. Miranda wonders if she can just take a quick stroll and come back when the cleaning is done and use the couch as her bed, just in case the snappy woman returns.

Miranda loathes asking for help with the laces on the back of her dress, but she has to. The woman is not so gentle, but it doesn't unsettle her. If anything, the woman's spunk is almost comforting. She's not a woman to be trifled with, but for Miranda that means she is safe.

"The king is in his study," the woman suddenly says as she tightens the last of the laces. "On with you now!"

Miranda half-expects a swat as she scurries out of the room, but by some act of mercy none comes. But the thought of one alone keeps her scurrying relatively quickly to Caspian's study. Well, she has to stop someone in the hall and ask them where, precisely, that is, but she keeps up her pace as she makes her way there.

At her timid knock, a familiar voice calls, "Come in!"

Caspian turns in his seat as she closes the door behind her and instantly stands with concern written all over his face.

"You wanted to see me?" she asks, trying to ignore the silent question in his eyes.

"I've been worried, Mira." Hearing that softens her just a little, and he must know it too. "Where have you been? I could not find you at all yesterday, or the night before."

"I was there at the courtyard meeting, silly," she answers, almost indignant at his inquiry. "And as I said, I've been sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Caspian echoes, clearly not quite believing her. In light of her present mood, this annoys her quite a bit.

"Yes, sleeping," she says crossly. "People do that when they're tired, you know."

Caspian seems to be at a loss; he stays silent and looks as confused as anything. It almost makes her consider telling him what's really happened, but she remembers how much she told him mere days ago and can't find it in her to tell him anything else. He knows far more than she'd prefer, anyway. She even thinks that she'd take it back if she could.

"Is it Leila?" he asks quietly, looking at her steadily even when she frowns deeper and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Leila's fine."

Why can't he just leave it lie? Doesn't he know she's told him far more than she should have already?

"I don't want to talk about it, Caspian," she finally says, the words heavy and cold on her tongue. She knows he only wants to help, she does, but right now she has to deal with this on her own and she can't do that if he's going to constantly be concerned.

She's almost expecting him to shake his head and tell her that she needs to talk about it, but he does the opposite. Caspian stays silent and just nods to acknowledge what she's said.

"I just need to work this one out on my own," she tells him with an apology in her eyes. The confusion and slight hurt in his gaze pricked at her conscience, and she wants him to know that it isn't anything he's done.

"You will tell me if there is anything to worry about, won't you?" He sounds unsure even as he asks and afterwards he seems to hold his breath, waiting for her refusal.

She can't quite do that to him, so she lies.

"Of course." Miranda says this softly so it doesn't sound like she's dismissing the question, even though that is precisely what she's doing. She will have to tell him at some point seeing as how she was foolish enough to tell him about being in the hospital in the first place, but she can postpone it for a while until she figures out how, exactly, to have that conversation. It's not really something she can just mention at the drop of a hat.

If only she were ready, now would be a prime opportunity to discuss it – rather, to mention it. Miranda is quite sure that she will never want to outright discuss it.

Caspian still doesn't seem quite convinced, but he nods like he knows he won't get anything more out of her right now.

"Will I see you at dinner?" he asks as she turns to go.

"If you insist." Miranda says this playfully, hoping to make him forget about the conversation at least a little.

Smiling, Caspian accepts this and she takes her leave.

Goodness, he's not easy to fool.

* * *

Dinner that night indeed sees Miranda at the table making small talk with the king and, after dinner, Suncloud. Suncloud presses her a bit more than Caspian did regarding her absence, especially when she had promised to annoy him, but Miranda manages to placate him with the promise of a good archery match-off in a week's time.

"A fine proposition, Mira," Suncloud says to her suggestion. "Even if I am partial to the sword."

"Trust me, you can still probably shoot much better than I can," she answers with her first laugh in days.

"Probably."

She makes sure to swat his arm for that, and she doesn't miss that Caspian watches their antics with a dangerously fond smile on his face. It makes her forget to breathe for a second. He is only a friend, and that is precisely how he thinks of her, she reassures herself that night when dinner is over and she's sitting quietly in one of the gardens by herself. Only a friend, that's all. But that look…it made her wonder, for one breathless moment.

She wants nothing like that.

So assured, Miranda puts the odd occurrence from her mind and focuses on enjoying the receding aches in her body. Spending the previous day in bed, while irksome to some, was really quite helpful on her end. Now she can at least move without biting back a grimace, though she still can't do anything too strenuous.

Thinking of her body's recovery quickly puts her thoughts on the road to what actually is happening.

She died, and she's still here. She'll never see her family again and now she has to live with the fact that they're alive and missing her and in pain and there is absolutely nothing she can do. Worse, she has to trust that Leila took her warning to heart and is taking all the extra precautions she can.

What if those precautions aren't enough?

Miranda wants more than anything to trust Aslan will take care of her, but Aslan is in Narnia; how can he look after Leila when Leila is in another world entirely?

If Lucy were here, Miranda knows she would tell her to have faith and trust that Aslan would look after her.

The big concern, however, was Leila looking after herself. Miranda still doesn't know how much Leila knows of that night, but she thinks she must know at least a little because the two were practically attached at the hip and Leila would have wormed it out of her one way or another if Miranda didn't tell her.

Leila has to be safe, or Miranda will truly never forgive herself.

Miranda has, she realizes, no way of knowing one way or the other. Whether Leila stays safe and Bates leaves her alone or not, she doesn't have any way of finding out for sure. Of all the things to trust for good to win out for, this is one that's almost too challenging to bear. How is Miranda supposed to just accept that there is nothing she can do now? She'd hoped for at least a little more time to tell Leila what she meant, that a demon might be on her trail.

'_Aslan, please keep her safe,' _Miranda whispers in her mind, praying the Lion can hear her wherever he is. He just disappeared into the tree, after all.

When she goes to bed that night, Miranda goes with a mind as troubled as it is tired. She hopes to sleep soundly, but the night has other plans, it seems.

* * *

Miranda is aware that she is dreaming. This is perhaps the strangest thing of all, because being aware of a dream is not how the thing usually goes for her.

There are only two things she is aware of: a fabric-like smell and a pillow under her head. She lifts her hand to itch her forehead, but her elbow hits something solid but soft. At once, Miranda's hands shoot out in front of her to feel what it is. It feels smooth under her hands, but it's slightly poofy too. It catches on the pad of her finger as she pushes against it.

It doesn't budge.

Miranda moves her hands to either side, and there she finds the same strange fabric. It's almost like satin, but satin that's been stuffed.

All at once, Miranda realizes exactly where she is.

Her coffin.

At first she thinks to lie still and wait to wake up, but quickly that plan goes horribly awry and she snaps. She screams and shouts and claws at the soft satin that almost feels like the edging of her childhood blanket until her throat is raw and the tips of her fingers are bleeding from her efforts. It does nothing.

The only thing she does is scream and claw anyway.

* * *

Miranda wakes screaming with the sickly soft feel of the satin still tickling at her fingertips.

And then she realizes all at once just how loud she's being and nearly smothers her face into a pillow trying to quiet herself. It's a relief when her voice wears out and she can only lie there quietly.

That was a nightmare, and the first that did not involve another person. In that sense, it was an odd brand of relief.

Relief or no, Miranda doesn't sleep the rest of the night, and when sunrise comes she feels almost as drained as she did when she first woke up from the hospital. Her body needed the rest, and she couldn't really get it.

Breakfast is a tedious affair as a result, especially when she remembers that she needs to go to the training area and keep up appearances for Suncloud. She did promise him that archery match-off within the week, and she knows she'll need to practice to keep him off her back. Caspian's concern is difficult enough to evade.

He doesn't approach her after breakfast, to her relief. Maybe he knows that she'd rather be left alone, especially after their little talk the other day in his study. Miranda makes her way to the practice grounds in a mood regardless of the morning's successful solitude, but once she gets there, she finds that the methodical practice of shooting and stringing arrows soothes her, though it taxes her already exhausted body terribly. Her arms ache as if it's her first time with a bow, and her accuracy seems to have tanked overnight.

Suncloud joins her on the range soon, and he jests with her regarding her notably awful aim.

"Honestly Mira, it's as if you have never held a bow in your life!" he says with a grin after one of her arrows sails across the lawn and buries itself in the ground.

"Keep in mind I haven't been doing this since before I could walk," Miranda grumbles in return. She's not that cranky, not really, but the banter is comforting.

"A pity. But even you cannot deny that today, you are spectacularly…well, uncoordinated."

"You can be honest and say I'm awful."

Miranda punctuates this with another arrow; this time it finds purchase in a tree.

"You are, then." Suncloud isn't even trying to hide his amusement, and on one level Miranda doesn't blame him a bit. The situation does have a twinge of humor, even if her arms are so sore by now that just holding the bow up makes her grit her teeth.

"Thanks."

Hours and hours of painful shooting continue in a similar fashion; Miranda fires again and again with disappointing results, Suncloud puts her aim to shame, and he isn't so shy about letting her know exactly how poor he thinks her aim really is.

"Hitting the target is always a good start," he tells her with a wry grin when she hits someone else's bull's eye rather than her own.

"You never specified whose target," she tosses back with a pinched smile. Her arms really do hurt a little too much.

"And you are ready to drop," Suncloud states blandly. "I think it's time you called it a day."

"What are you, my dad?" Miranda really does want to go back inside and stop the hopeless endeavor, but she has to at least pretend to be annoyed at the proposition, if only for the fun of it.

Suncloud plays along by shooing her back toward the castle and grabbing her bow amid her rather lackluster protests.

"Go on now," he finishes with a laugh. "We will try again tomorrow and hope some sleep reminds you what you have learned."

"Going, gone." Miranda smiles as she goes, all the way to her room. She's hoping for a little nap before dinner.

Unfortunately for her, the bed holds too many memories of waking up sweaty and scared; it looks hostile, even though it is the softest thing she's ever laid on.

"That leaves the couch," she murmurs to no one in particular (seeing as how the room is, in point of fact, empty).

She pads over and removes only her shoes before curling up with her head against the arm and her legs tucked up close to her stomach, her skirt tickling the sides of her feet. Having her back up against something solid is comforting, and soon enough Miranda nods off into a fitful sleep.

She's woken by Madia, to her relief, and shuffles off to dinner after taking a few minutes to chat with the kindly young woman in the interest of getting to know her a bit better. And besides, Madia is much kinder when waking her up.

During dinner, it occurs to Miranda that she can't just sit around, mope, and do little else than practice shooting arrows. She needs to have something to keep her busy, if only for the benefit of distraction. She considers asking Caspian what there is for her to do, but she feels guilty when she knows he's busy. Surely she can come up with some way of spending her time usefully.

Her answer comes in the form of the snappy maid's snark.

The next morning the sour-faced woman is the one to wake her, and it's when the matron comments with a disapproving sniff as to the utter lack of Miranda's wardrobe that Miranda decides at once how to keep busy. Rather than having a dressmaker make her clothes, wouldn't it be fine if she could do it herself? It would certainly take up enough of her time, and perhaps when she'd made her own things she could just take up the job as an apprentice, or however that sort of thing works here in Narnia.

And in her free time, she could practice her archery and perhaps do some reading in the library. Yes, those things would keep her pleasantly busy, busy enough that she would not constantly be trying to avoid thinking about her family, about Leila. It sounds like a very good idea indeed.

Miranda wastes no time in asking Madia if she knows of a way Miranda can ask the dressmakers about helping out.

"They would likely take you as an apprentice, miss," Madia tells her with surprise written on her face. "But why would you want to do a thing like that?"

"To pass the time, " Miranda answers truthfully. "I like feeling useful."

This visibly perplexes Madia further, but Miranda is determined and so Madia only nods and tells her where to find the castle seamstresses.

"You could stand a few nicer fitting dresses anyway miss, if you'll pardon me."

Miranda is more amused than anything else, and tells her budding friend so at once. This produces a sort of ease between the two that was not quite there before, and Miranda wonders if she'll have a new friend before the month is over. It certainly seems that way at the moment. It's a cheering thought.

Wasting no time after breakfast, Miranda makes her way to the seamstress's corner of the castle complex with a determined stride that's so unlike her that she has to stop to take stock of herself for a moment, right there in the middle of the courtyard. She's pleased with herself, and quite sure that this idea of keeping herself busy really was the best decision in light of recent events. Then she remembers in painful detail exactly all of the things she's trying to forget, and her courage drains away quicker than she can get it back. It's a long walk back to her room, and of course she just _has_ to bump into Caspian on the way.

"Sorry!" she says with a start, having rather ingloriously crashed into her friend shoulder first.

"As am I," Caspian answers with a grimace. "It seems we both should mind where we walk a bit better."

Miranda's about to stammer another apology and retreat with her tail even farther between her legs than before, but at the last second she understands that he's only trying to joke. Her unease remains, but she hides it better.

"Shouldn't the king set an example for his subjects?" she tosses back with only a small quiver in her voice.

"Should not a lady be more graceful and forgiving?"

This feels a bit like the night they met in Trufflehunter's cave, when she told him he was still a boy and they bantered over that alone for a few minutes, until she'd almost forgotten how uncomfortable she was around a stranger, especially a strange boy.

Now, when she looks at him, she does not see a boy; she sees a man. Well, a rather young man, but a man still. Perhaps it was the war that had changed him, or perhaps it was Aslan, or his crown, or his uncle, or all of them combining at once. In any case, she likes the look of him a good deal more now than she did that first night. He carries more burdens now, but he is older (a little), wiser (a lot), and somehow safer too.

Caspian clears his throat, and it's then that she realizes she's been staring at her hands and thinking to herself for far too long.

"You presume I'm a lady," she hurries to say, hoping he won't ask what she was thinking because it's really quite embarrassing now that she replays it in her head.

"And how could you be anything but?"

This is only half teasing, and they both know it. At the same moment, Miranda notices for the first time the new lines in his brow and around his eyes. He's been worried and weighed down even more than before. In a rush, she wants to take just a tiny piece of those burdens away if only for a few minutes.

"Come with me," she says, grabbing his hand and tugging him off down the hallway with a tentatively mischievous gleam in her eye. "You look like you need a break."

"Do I?" It's clear he's humoring her, and she purses her lips in reply.

She pretends not to notice when he laces his fingers with hers, though she is imminently aware of how very warm and comfortable his hand is.

After a brief brisk walk down the hall, Miranda ducks into the first garden she sees and sits him down on a bench that's a little out of the way, but not so remote that she can't get away fast if she feels like it.

"I think they don't have Truth or Dare here, but it's a fun game. We're decompressing."

Did she just order him around?

"I mean, that is, if you'd like," Miranda hurries to add with a certain unpleasant sort of heat working its way up the back of her neck.

"I am intrigued," Caspian answers with a curious smirk. "Please, explain."

"It's exactly what it sounds like, silly," Miranda says with a bit more timidity than she'd have liked. "You choose either to tell a truth or to get a dare, and if you lie or don't do the dare, you pay the penalty."

And she realizes abruptly that she has not thought of a penalty, and sets about that immediately.

"I see," Caspian says slowly, with his eyebrows pinching together like he's working it out without being entirely sure of how the whole thing works. "What is the penalty?"

"Owing the other a favor." Miranda says this without thinking, but as soon as she says it she knows it's a good idea. She hates being in debt to anyone, and she knows he will not like the idea either. So really, it's a very good penalty for the both of them.

"Alright." Caspian sounds mildly curious now, and is clearly waiting for her to start so he'll understand exactly what the game truly entails.

"Truth or dare then?" she asks him, with her heart pounding in her ears.

"Dare."

So he's the dare type then; Miranda remembers what fun it was with some of her friends from years ago and tries to think of something as ridiculous as possible. After all, the whole point is to help Caspian unwind from whatever is troubling him.

"Jump in that fountain, boots and all." Miranda is full aware of how very uncomfortable the proposition will be (leather boots are not at all nice when wet) and his regal attire will not help matters either, but he did go and ask for a dare and she wasn't about to disappoint.

Caspian raises an eyebrow at her suggestion, but he gets up at once and strides steadily toward the elaborate stone fountain with the bubbling water that almost sounds as if it could be laughing. Luckily for him, it is a rather deep fountain.

He jumps in as instructed, but in the end the water only just comes to the middle of his thighs, and Miranda gets the pleasure of shaking her head and gesturing for him to go down farther.

"All the way," she tells him with a smile that relishes in the first taste of the fun.

He doesn't even hesitate before completely submerging himself, and when he emerges a wet and dripping mess, Miranda can't quite help her giggle.

"Your royal robes have looked better," she tells him as he's struggling out of the water with clothes made quite heavy by the dunking.

"And yet, I think you preferred that to the favor," he answers mildly but with the dawnings of merriment in his voice. If Miranda guesses correctly, he hasn't had much real fun like this.

"Indeed. Though now I'm not off scott-free; it's your turn to ask me."

"Truth or dare, Mira?" he asks as he comes and sits beside her again, the water still dripping and forming little puddles around him and on the bench.

Miranda scoots over when one of the puddles starts inching a little too close to her dress.

"Dare."

Well she couldn't very well go with truth after he'd begun the game on a dare, now could she?

"Sing a song from your world."

In this moment, she just might hate him.

"Caspian, I do not sing," she answers in a low and unhappy voice.

"I suppose I'll have a favor in store for me then," he replies nonchalantly as he wrings out one of his sleeves.

Damn.

Miranda sets her teeth and grits out, "Fine," without really being as annoyed as she thought she'd be. It is, after all, a game, and if Caspian makes fun of her she can simply swat him and enjoy the idea of him sitting in his wet things for the rest of the game.

At length, Miranda settles on some random pop song she heard on the radio and grinds out the refrain with a face, she's sure, as red as a proper tomato.

"Is that the entire song?" Caspian is outright messing with her now, but she knows that he's right.

She finishes the song with the beginnings of homicidal thoughts and promises herself to get him back good and square when it's her turn again.

"You enjoyed that entirely too much," she grouses when she's finished belting out the off-key tune of the unspeakably popular song from her world.

"It's not often you blush so fiercely, and I was curious."

She swats him anyway.

"Alright you goose, truth or dare?" She's determined to change the subject and get him back as soon as possible.

"Truth." His eyes twinkle not so deep down when he says that, as if he knows that she was planning her revenge and he's enjoying making her wait.

Miranda rolls her eyes and consoles herself with the knowledge he'll have to pick dare again eventually.

"What was the most worst prank you ever pulled?"

"Nothing."

"You've never pulled a prank in your life?" Miranda can't quite believe this; everyone was once a mischievous youngster, and one thing she knew was that pranks had a certain appeal to them.

Caspian shakes his head.

"I was always training and being tutored and such. I did not, in truth, have anyone to play a good prank _on_."

"Well then you've got to come up with one and put into practice as soon as possible," Miranda states almost grandly. "Playing a prank is almost a right of passage, Caspian."

"Passage to what?"

"Life, I suppose. In any case, that's your homework. Come up with a prank and pull it." Miranda thinks that perhaps thinking of the prank will give Caspian a bit of a respite from his new duties, or at the very least give him something a bit more fun to think about.

"Very well."

She does not like how he said that, nor does she especially care for the evil little gleam he's gotten in his eye.

"Caspian," she warns. "I'm not good at being the butt of these things. I'm much better at pulling the strings than taking them."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're speaking of, Mira," he tells her in the most innocent of voices, but still with that promise of mischief in his eyes. It looks rather well on him, if Miranda takes a moment to notice.

"Oh hush, I know you do. And in any case, we've a game to finish."

"Truth or dare, Mira?"

Caspian _is _having fun, and Miranda finds that she is to, much more than she'd thought she would.

"Dare."

She's not about to back down, and perhaps if she does a dare then he'll choose that one next and she can really get him back for making her sing. All in good fun, naturally.

"Take my hand, and do not let go until the game is done."

He is positively cruel with the dares, and yet in the most amusing way. Miranda quickly finds that her face is heating up again, but since she's sat with her hand in his a few times before, the proposition isn't all that bad.

So she takes his hand and smirks triumphantly.

"You could have done worse," she says with a grin. It's not all bad, sitting here hand in hand. Almost…cozy. If only his sleeve wasn't so wet that it was getting her arm soaked too.

"I know. Dare."

Ah, this is precisely what she was hoping for.

"Screech like a bird before you speak until the end of the game."

This should keep him from teasing her so.

And now it is Caspian's turn to flush. He isn't nearly so quick to mess with her after that, but a few times an ungainly screech echoes through the garden and it's all Miranda can do to hold in a snort of sheer amusement.

They continue with their game for much longer than Miranda originally intended. Caspian doesn't seem to mind the time or the game, though he's quite visibly relieved when she declares the game over and that he needn't squawk before speaking now.

Of course, he makes a great show of teasing her about having to let go of his hand then, and she almost wishes she'd made the dare for the rest of the day rather than the rest of the game.

"Oh get on with you," she grumbles not very crossly at all. "You rat, you."

"Rat though I be, you're still smiling."

"Like you aren't!"

They both are, and they both know it, and they are both so immensely glad that Miranda proposed the game in the first place. Caspian even thanks her for it, once he's through with making her cheeks burn with an embarrassment that is not, quite, so very unpleasant.

"It was fun, even if I did have to hold your hand," she answers with a grin. It feels so good to be merry and have fun like she used to; she'd almost forgotten how very enjoyable the enterprise was.

Caspian smiles, but then he takes her hand again and she isn't sure whether she should pull away, especially because she doesn't particularly want to. It's oddly comforting, having her hand encased so. She'll never say that aloud, but she can think it all she likes.

"I should return to my study," Caspian says soon after with no small amount of regret in his voice. "Walk with me, after dinner."

"You didn't say please," Miranda replies, still with that light-hearted air that she's so unused to and so quickly becoming addicted to.

But her jolly mood is quickly brought down to a warm and earnest contentment when Caspian murmurs "Please" in a voice so gentle it sends goosebumps up her arms.

"Alright then."

Her voice is not breathless, is it?

"Until after dinner."

* * *

**Review!**


	19. Arc 1: Through The Door

**And here we have the end of Arc 1! At last, it feels like it's taken forever to get here...Rest assured I'll be working on Arc 2, but you can expect at least a 2 month wait before the next chapter. I think I've firmed up the plot for Arc 2, but I still have a good deal of writing left to do. Thanks for understanding in advance.**

**Many thanks to liz-04 and Carrera for reviewing the previous chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

Caspian and Miranda part ways after their little game, both feeling decidedly much better than before. Miranda even finds enough pluck to march back to the seamstress and actually go in this time.

"Well I suppose we might find a place for you, though I haven't the faintest idea what a friend of the king wants to work for," says the head seamstress, an old woman who introduces herself as Esma.

"Thank you," Miranda says. "I just like to keep busy."

That's a phrase she's far overused, but seeing as how she doesn't think Madia will be comparing notes with Esma, there's no harm in it. In any case, it shows consistency.

Once all the details are worked out (Miranda will come in every day at first to learn the trade, and as time goes on and her skills improve she will have one day off of work for every six), Miranda gets started right away. She spends the rest of the day there, learning how to hold and thread a needle, how to sew a sleeve, how to attach a jewel to a bodice, and other such useful things. The work proves to be as good as she hoped; she doesn't think of Bates or Leila or missing her parents until she's on her way to her room to wash up before dinner.

Of course, then she ends up taking twice as long as she should as she tries to shut it out, but in the end it's Caspian who pulls her from the swirling memories.

A knock comes that interrupts her thoughts, and when she opens the door Caspian is standing there and telling her he wants to walk her to dinner.

"Afraid I'd get lost?" she says with a smile as she tries to hide the slight tremor in her voice. Her hand shakes just a little as Caspian tucks it into his arm, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he's kind enough to keep it to himself.

"I wanted to ask a truth of you," he confesses without quite looking at her. That alone makes her nervous.

"Oh?" Miranda is careful that she doesn't give away her apprehension, but she vaguely wonders if he knows anyway.

"If I may," he amends. He looks at her full-on now, and when she sees the sincerity that lays in his eyes she can't quite say no.

"Go ahead."

She still holds her breath waiting.

"Are you to leave soon?" He clears his throat and glances away from her. "You've been exhausted of late, Mira. I can't help but wonder if…"

"Didn't I promise I would say goodbye if I could?" she answers with her heart in her throat. She should have known that's what he would think. And yet, she can't find enough willpower to tell him the truth just yet.

"I am not sure you would know how."

It stings, but it's true, not that she can admit that without admitting the whole ugly, messy thing.

"Trust me, I've been thinking it over plenty." Now she sounds cranky, and while that wasn't entirely her intention it might get the effect she wants anyway.

Caspian doesn't speak after that, not the whole way to the dining hall. She doesn't either, and she hates how cold and empty it feels. Friends aren't supposed to be like this, but how can she just tell him when it's all so fresh? She barely even understands it herself.

* * *

Dinner slugs along, and afterwards Miranda is fully expecting that Caspian will have changed his mind about that walk. To her surprise, he asks her again and she's too busy marveling at that alone that she doesn't realize she's agreed until they're walking arm in arm together once again.

"I'm sorry I was sour earlier," Miranda says after the silence stretches between them for too long and she can't bear it anymore.

"Perhaps I should not have asked." He sounds contrite enough, but strangely Miranda doesn't _want_ him to feel sorry. It was a legitimate question, even if she was in no way prepared to answer it honestly.

"I'll say goodbye if and when it's necessary, just like I promised."

This is meant to be reassuring, but Miranda doesn't miss how Caspian's arm tightens around her own and brings her just a little closer to his side.

"You'd know if it was time," Miranda continues, barely taking notice of the closing distance that was already minimal between them.

"Would I?"

He asks it softly, but to Miranda it might as well have been a shout coupled with a rather aggressive shake for the effect it has; she instantly wants nothing more than to curl up into a sorry little ball and blub the whole thing out at once. She doesn't of course, but the very fact that the temptation is there makes her clam up quicker than anything.

"I'm not just going to vanish, Caspian," Miranda tells him a little gentler than her previous statements have been. "I'm not that cold."

He looks straight ahead as he considers what she's saying. Miranda can tell just from the slight pinch of his mouth that he's not entirely convinced, even if he's trying to believe her. He's too worried to do it completely.

Caspian nods once, a quick and abrupt acknowledgement of her words that doesn't hold much warmth. She considers telling him then, just to get it out of the way, but she can't get the words out. She's still not ready, no matter how she much she wants to be in that moment.

And to think that if only she was, this whole issue could be resolved in minutes. For the moment, Miranda hates her inability to say something, _anything_. How is this fair to him?

Not even that can make her voice work and explain what's really going on, and so the two end up taking their walk in a silence that's just a little too uncomfortable.

Miranda hates lying to him. She hates withholding the truth just because she can't bear to say it out loud.

For a moment, she considers taking him up to that tower where they watched the fireworks and forcing herself to spit the words out. And yet as soon as she does, her skin prickles and her head throbs and a cold shiver runs down her spine.

Why can't she just tell him?

Miranda can't answer that, but every time she glances up at the new king she hates her inability even more.

They talk in short spurts of things that don't really matter as they go along, but each of them are so caught up in their own thoughts that the conversation feels just as flat as it is. But Caspian doesn't bring up his worry again, and Miranda stays as mum as ever.

Before too much longer, they arrive at Miranda's room and then Caspian's saying goodnight. His eyes look heavy and sad; Miranda pretends not to notice, but that look tortures her for the rest of the night. Even when she manages to sleep, all she can dream about is that look in King Caspian's eye.

* * *

Miranda is relieved for her new apprenticeship the next morning. Never minding that her eyes have bags and she's so sleepy that she walks straight into the wardrobe door, she instantly feels better knowing she has something to keep her from thinking over the previous night and how worried she's made King Caspian with her stubbornness.

There, that helps; calling him by his formal title keeps it from feeling so intensely personal, and for a little bit Miranda can pretend that nothing at all is the matter. She can pretend that he's somehow less involved than he is. That little bit is enough to get her to Esma's, and from there on she's far too occupied in learning her new trade to even begin to think about thinking of last night.

"Don't forget your thimble!" Esma calls. "Now come here and take care to learn this."

The day is filled with painstaking observation and hands-on learning. Miranda doesn't have time to learn slowly; she has to remember everything they say at once. By the end of the day, they have her hemming and attaching buttons and most of all, mending clothes that have come in for repair. Mending is what Miranda is best at for now - it's relatively simple and only involves pieces of clothes. It's a good place to start, rather than trying to jump straight into sewing from scratch.

When the day is winding down, Miranda finds that even though her fingers are sore and she's pricked herself more times than she can count in spite of the thimble, she's immeasurably glad for the work. It's methodical and tedious but what better to keep her mind off of other things? It's the perfect arrangement.

After supper, Miranda quickly decides that it's no use going to bed early when she won't sleep for a while and when she does it'll be fitful at best, so she heads for the library to catch up on Narnia's history. Well, she begins to, but then she realizes she doesn't, in fact, know where the library is and she has to ask one of the people in the hall where it is. After that minor snag, however, it's smooth sailing and she's easing the door open before a quarter hour is gone.

She's greeted with shelves and stacks that are so orderly they almost look austere. It's intimidating, but she'd rather confront the shelves than her own dreams. Miranda quickly realizes that this is a Telmarine library and so there are no books about Narnia's history, only their own within Narnia and before. Shrugging, she picks up the one that looks the most interesting (the golden binding does look nice against the rich brown cover): _A History of Telmar and the Conquering of Narnia_. It may be a one-sided story, but maybe she can find a book that tells it from Narnia's perspective later, in another library.

With a determined gaze and a candle in her hand, Miranda picks a remote corner of the library with an armchair she can sink down into and begins.

* * *

Crying. Crying that she caused echoes in her ears endlessly, until she wishes she could clamp her hands over her ears and scream just to keep the sound away.

Miranda stands alone in a grassy, slightly hilly field marked by regularly placed slabs of granite. And there in front of her, she can see one of those stones with her name on it. The casket beside it must be hers.

It's a dark wood, shiny and new. She vaguely thanks them for sending her off in such a nice little box. Is that mahogany? It's a deep and rich brown with just a hint of red. It's nice.

The dismal tones of the preacher carry over to her ears on the gentle breeze, speaking those last words before everyone disperses to let the box be lowered down.

Miranda remembers dreaming of the inside of that box and wonders if there are, indeed, pillowy satin walls on the inside.

The preacher finishes his speech as she looks on without quite knowing why or how she's here. When the people gathered (so many; she doesn't remember being that close with _that_ many people) leave with heavy steps and long, tear-streaked faces, Miranda takes careful steps toward her new grave and only barely wonders why some of the mourners passed straight through her and she didn't feel a thing.

She watches as the cemetery staff lower the coffin into the neat hole that's been dug out. She listens when the machine creaks and hears the startling thump of the coffin's jumpstart. She smells the rain in the air and knows it will come before night.

For what could be a thousand eternities, Miranda simply stands, and watches, and listens. This is all she is now. This mahogany box is all that's left of her life at home.

* * *

Miranda jolts awake with a cramp in her side and a book in her lap. Is that sunlight peeking through the curtains?

Yes, it is, and she has a sinking feeling she's missed breakfast. The meal itself isn't very important to her, but she is well aware that Caspian will be worried again and may ask her where she's been. This will be just another thing to tally up in his list of strange things, won't it? He'll be weaseling the full tale out of her by sundown.

Now, Miranda knows on some level that he won't do that to her, not really. He's always respected her space when she's wanted it, especially when she's asked it of him. This time will not be different, but she can't help fearing it is. After all, this little secret of hers does affect him this time, and that might change his attitude about it altogether.

A tiny piece of her wonders if she isn't trying to find something wrong with him so she won't care so very much what he thinks.

Moreover, she absolutely does not want to think about the dream. It pops into her head very much of its own accord and with none of hers, so she has to force it down and put the book on Telmarine history back on the shelf (it takes her several minutes to locate its previous position, and a good deal of stretching to get it put back there) to keep the sounds of tears and doleful words of goodbye from echoing in her mind.

It wants to come back the moment the book is in its place, but Miranda starts off to Esma's immediately in the hopes that the work will keep her troubles at bay for another twelve hours or so, at the least. She'd prefer fifteen, but she knows that the others would not appreciate staying so long.

Work is only minimally successful in keeping her mind from that casket. It really was quite a nice wood box, but looking at it or thinking of it makes Miranda think of being buried in it and trying to claw her way out.

What's worse, the night brings another bad dream a-calling, but this time she isn't so sure that it's only a dream.

* * *

Miranda now sees herself lying peacefully in that casket she saw last night, but the top half of the lid is open and her face is exposed for all to see. This must be the wake. Why is she seeing all of this in the opposite order that it must have happened?

Leila is here, and so are Miranda's parents. This is the first thing she notices outside of the casket and how perfectly ghastly she looks there with her skin pale as an icy death and an eerie look on her face, calm though it is. She wishes they hadn't put quite so much blush on her face - it looks unnatural and almost garish even in the dim lighting.

Miranda's attention is fully captured when Leila stands and walks up to the open casket. She just catches a flash of paper hidden in Leila's sleeve as the girl approaches the coffin with tears in her eyes that she's clearly fighting very hard to keep from falling.

Leila leans down and whispers something, and if Miranda really concentrates she can just make out the words.

"I know what you meant now," Leila breathes, the first of her tears slipping down her right cheek. "I want you to know that I'm being careful, just like you said." Here Leila laughs a garbled, watery sort of laugh that isn't really a laugh at all. "Even though you know I hate being careful. Doesn't mesh well with us artists, you know."

Leila breaks a little then; Miranda can see the telltale flash of pain in her eyes that signals she's about to give up and put on a detached mask to pretend that nothing is quite as wrong as it is. But before that happens, Leila leans down closer to Miranda's body and the little slip of paper Miranda noticed before slides easily from her sleeve. Pressing the note into the body's folded hands, Leila whispers one last thing before she straightens and goes back to her seat.

"If you're my guardian angel now, help me."

This is the moment when Miranda feels herself being pulled from the scene and returned to her comfortable bed.

* * *

When she wakes before first light, Miranda is sure of one thing and one thing only: she has to help her friend. Never _mind _that it's technically impossible to do so, and never _mind_ that she's died already and can't even get a vague message across. No, she has to a find a way or Leila will pay an awful price, a price no one should ever have to pay for being friends with the wrong person.

Bates can not have her.

Miranda remembers his second visit to her, how he suggested Leila would be a better…well, that she'd be more…

'Cooperative,' the oily voice echoes in Miranda's ear.

It's not Leila he's really after; Miranda's almost sure of this. Either he doesn't know she's dead and is hoping to use threatening her friend to convince her to come back to his place again, or he does know and Leila simply happens to be the closest thing to Miranda herself that he can get to. Either option is sickening and makes Miranda want to simultaneously hide under the bed and never come out and rush out of Narnia to tear him limb from limb, joint from joint, skin from muscle with her own two hands. She does owe him a rather large and to-the-point "No thank you" - what better way than teaching him that he made the biggest mistake in his short life when he first mentioned going after Leila?

Miranda can cope with what he did to her, but what she will not tolerate under any sun or god or heaven is that the same or worse happen to her friend.

She has to stop him. And the only way she knows how is distracting him with what he really wants.

Her.

Miranda doesn't wait for the sun to finish rising to prepare to leave Narnia; she begins at once. There's little to do other than change out of her nightclothes and get her shoes on. She will find Aslan, she will beg him to let her go home, and she won't stop until he sends her back. Nothing can happen to Leila. Nothing.

At the last minute, Miranda remembers Caspian. She can't just leave without saying goodbye, but there isn't time to wait for him to get up. So she does the best she can – she writes a note and hopes that he thinks to look for it. She leaves it on her bed with his name on the front in the hopes Madia will take it to him.

She's out the door and winding her way through the halls she's barely gotten time to figure out before the sun peeks its first ray over the horizon. By the time she finds her way out of the castle, dawn is underway.

Aslan. Where is Aslan?

Miranda quickens her pace in one breathless burst, her feet pounding on the cobblestones and sending dull aches up her legs after a few minutes of the exercise. Her toe hits a corner, and she resists the urge to stop and baby it. But goodness, it stings.

'_Aslan,'_ she thinks, '_if you can hear me, I need you. I need you right now._'

Even concentrating on calling for Aslan is difficult. Leila's image dances across her mind's eye in an endless reel of desperate panic. Miranda is about to fail, and that just can't happen. Only she can pay for her negligence. Not her best friend. Never.

Miranda loses her patience before she gets two bounds from the city gates.

'_ASLAN?!'_ she screeches wildly in her head, the sheer force of it rattling her teeth. The moment she makes it out of earshot of the city, she calls for him out loud. She shouts, she cries, she screams until her throat is raw and scratchy and almost useless.

Where is he?!

"ASLAN!" she bellows one last time, her voice cracking on the last A before it really and truly gives out. The only sound she can produce now is a hoarse whisper, and even that is more than a little iffy.

What is there to do now? She doesn't know how to get out of Narnia, and she doesn't know how to help. What on earth is there to be done? If only she'd held on a little longer, if only she'd not come to Narnia, if only she hadn't even gotten in the car that day! None of this would have happened if she had just driven a little more carefully, if she had just kept her head and stopped herself from panicking and drawing conclusions on a dime. So many things would be alright if only she'd been just a little wiser, a little calmer, a little…better.

She deserves to be abandoned by Aslan, but Leila does not.

"Help her, that's all I'm asking," Miranda breathes, her throat aching. The words seem to hang in the air for a moment before cracking and breaking, shattering into a million pieces she'll never be able to pick up.

Miranda doesn't know how long she stumbles along away from the city begging Aslan to come help her, to help her friend, to keep anyone else from suffering for her mistakes. She heads toward the woods on the wild whim that since that's where she and Lucy found Aslan, that's where she can find him again.

'_But he isn't a tame lion_,' she reminds herself.

Her feet are starting to drag, but she has to keep going because if she doesn't, then Leila really doesn't stand a chance. Miranda isn't sure what, precisely, she wants to do after finding Aslan; all she knows is that she has to do something. _Anything_.

If her demon has plans for Leila, Miranda will take every last gruesome detail on herself if that's what it will take.

It's on the heels of that steely thought that Miranda sees him, great and golden just a little ways off. Without another thought, she breaks into a sprint and doesn't stop until she's beside him, kneading the stitch in her side.

"Aslan, please, I have to go back, I have to help her," she gasps out, not even caring that her legs scream in protest at the simple suggestion of being asked to do anything more today.

"If you help your friend, dear one, you will suffer more than you have already. Are you prepared for that?" Aslan's voice sounds heavy, as if he can see what she'll have to do and is sorry for it already.

"I don't care. She's my best friend, Aslan."

"Then go. Go with my blessing and do what you must. I will not abandon either of you."

Aslan looks almost…proud, above the heavy sadness that Miranda is now sure comes from knowing exactly what she's up against and what the result will be.

"Thank you," she says simply. There's nothing else that needs to be said, and so she only waits for his word.

Aslan turns and looks hard at two trees close enough together that their branches overlap and breathes out toward the gap between them. To Miranda's muted astonishment, the branches weave themselves together tightly at the Lion's word, until they form a door shape with the trunks on either side for the doorposts.

Miranda doesn't need the Lion to tell her that she must step through the door. With a deep breath and a final silent prayer to him, she strides forward.

* * *

**Well, that's Arc 1. What did you think? :)**

**Review!**


	20. Arc 2: The Way of Narnia

**Hello everyone! We're back in business. I apologize that the hiatus was longer than expected. Turns out taking a senior seminar a year early is super stressful and time consuming...because of that I'm not yet sure what the update schedule for FE will be from now on. I'm hoping for every two weeks, but it might end up being once a month. As a heads up, from mid-April until the first week of May I'll be swamped with the research paper of the century, so an update won't be coming in that timeframe without a miracle. But hopefully when summer break gets going I'll have a little more time on my hands. :)**

**Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me this far. And special thanks to Universal Lego for the most recent review, it really helped get me back in the writing groove and, well, it was just super sweet and thanks and you're awesome :)**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Only one month, and now it's come to this.

She tries everything to get away, everything in the world she can think of amid the blinding, choking fear. If she could just get those hands off…

Gagging as her throat constricts further, she wonders vaguely how badly it will bruise and how she can hide it. Then at last, one of her kicks hits home and the crunch of a breaking bone echoes in the night air.

A howl of pain breaks through the haze buzzing around her ears and the hands loosen around her neck. With eyes glazed over, she tries to aim a final kick to finish it. This second one is weaker than the first, but another splintering, crunching sort of sound rewards her efforts. She must have hit the same spot as before, and now the hands are gone and more screams are filling the night.

She should move.

She needs to get up, to pull herself to her feet and run as she's never run before in her life. But when she tries to just sit up and get her feet under her, her body won't listen and she finds herself back exactly how she started – on her back, the ground wet with the recent rain under her, and a throbbing, aching neck. She still can't make out much of anything…but if she stays here, she's as good as dead.

She's got to run.

But how? How to run when her legs won't even pretend to listen to her?

Too weak to force any sounds from her swollen throat, she can only mouth the name and pray he somehow hears her.

'_Aslan,' _she whispers in her mind, her lips shaping the word.

There's nothing else she can do.

She isn't sure how long she lays there, she's only sure that her neck _hurts_, dear Lion it hurts, and it's hard to breathe as deeply as she wants to.

Lying here with her head swimming, it's easy to remember how she got to this. The shot rings through her ears over and over again, as deafening in her memory as it was only minutes ago. If only she'd -

One of the hands from before returns, this time clawing at her side before settling on her arm. Is she going to just let it grasp at her like that, let the same hand that murdered…

'_Aslan, please,'_ she whispers again. It just can't end like this, not now, not when…

The shot rings in her ears once more and all at once there's nothing left but white-hot anger, burning at her insides and giving her a new and dangerous kind of strength. She's not sure what exactly she does with that sudden need for revenge, to make him hurt the way he's made so many others hurt, but whatever it is, it's intoxicating.

By the newest shouts coming from him, she's indeed made him hurt, and it feels better than she ever could have imagined. Still hazy, she lashes out at him in any way she can, almost without knowing what she's doing. All she knows is there's blood on her hands now and she can't stop, can't keep herself from tearing into him again and again and relishing in those screams. It's his turn to scream, and it's so very long overdue.

However long that goes on, she could never guess. But when he's still beneath her and her energy begins to drain away once more, she stops at last and looks down at her work.

He deserved this.

He deserved this and more, but she can't bring herself to finish him. He's incapacitated; that's all she needs to get away. There's nothing left for her here anyway.

But isn't it fair that he pay for what he's done? Isn't that what he's earned after taking things from her she could never get back, taking even more from her best friend? He's taken at least one life; why should he not pay with his own?

That's not the way of Aslan, nor is it the way of Narnia.

She has to let him go. She has to trust that Aslan knows a better way, knows how to keep him from hurting anyone else.

It pains her to do it, pains her so much she forgets about her neck for a moment and almost cries, but she leaves him there on the ground without touching him again.

Stumbling along through the forest, all she can think about is how much she wants to turn around and make sure herself that he won't hurt another girl. When she trips and falls between two trees and instantly feels the pull of magic, she's a little reassured that she's done the right thing.

When Miranda wakes, she's not so sure.

* * *

Someone's calling her name. Is that same someone responsible for the jostling of her shoulder? She wants to move away from it, but she quickly realizes her body will not cooperate.

But maybe she can at least open her eyes, just so they know they can desist with their annoying shaking that's sending sharp little bursts of pain down her neck. So she tries, and she does, and she's ever so relieved to see a familiar and friendly face.

"Mira?"

She wants so much to say hello, but she can't. She can only try to smile and hope she looks as glad to see him as she is. In doing so, she realizes how shocked Suncloud looks, almost as if he's seeing a ghost. Wanting to reassure him, she opens her moth before realizing, once again, that speaking is out of the question.

He looks down and suddenly seems to notice her bruised and swollen neck for the first time. So many questions are in her friend's eyes, and if Mira looks closely she thinks he looks a bit older too, older and wiser and just a little sadder.

"What happened, Mira?"

Maybe he's saying her name so much because he's still half-sure she's a ghost. She wants to convince him she's not if only for his own peace of mind, but now she's weakening again and she still can't talk anyway, so the whole enterprise is rather moot. The last thing she knows is Suncloud leaning over her with worry in every line of his face.

* * *

Waking up comfortable is a new experience, a strange feeling that's just pleasant enough Mira doesn't quite believe it.

Yet, when she blinks open her eyes and decides to make sense of her surroundings, she has to believe it. The bed is right under her, and blankets are tucked snuggly around her, and pillows are cushioning her head. Somehow, some way, she's out of the woods and she didn't kill him and…

Lion, what if he's found a new target already? Who knows how much time has passed in her world by now? And if indeed he has, who's to say she'll know one way or the other, and who's to say that fresh blood isn't on her hands? There's already so much…

At once, she has to know if her hands look as bloodied as she thinks they surely must be. Working them from the sheets proves a frantic struggle, one that ends with her panting from the effort and her arms shaking from the same, but she at last sees those two hands of hers.

Spotless. Clean.

How odd.

A door she hadn't noticed before clicks open, startling her badly enough that she can feel her heart stutter.

It's only Suncloud, and yet she's as nervous as if it were a complete stranger. Has a mere month set her so far back?

"Good morning," Suncloud says, clip-clopping into the room with the same worried lines in his face from before.

"Morning," she muses. Is it morning? It must be; sunlight is streaming through the sheer curtains. "Well, good morning then." At once, she's startled again by the sound of her own voice. It's so hoarse, hoarse and rough and gritty. Brittle, like glass.

Suncloud clops closer and stops beside the bed, regarding her with pinched eyebrows and unsure eyes.

"How…" her old friend clears his throat, tries again. "How are you feeling?"

Mira considers this, realizes she doesn't know.

"I don't know. I'm...I don't know."

Her hands wring together once more, tangling in the edge of the sheets. How can she not know the answer to that simple question?

"Breakfast is on its way," Suncloud says after a strange and uncomfortable pause. "Are you hungry?"

Is she? Perhaps she should be; after all, she can't remember her last meal.

"I suppose so," she answers. "That'd be good, yes."

There is so much more Suncloud wants to say, and yet he only nods and stands there silently, looking at her and then looking everywhere but her. His questions spiral in his eyes whenever he meets hers.

"You can ask, Suncloud," Mira sighs at last. "Best get it out of the way."

Her friend shifts on his hooves, avoids her gaze for agonizing moments more, before answering.

"If it's too soon-"

"It's fine. Like I said, I'd rather get it out of the way."

That way, once it's out there she can forget all about it and not have to recall it again. Her month home is one of those things she would give anything, anything at all, to forget and never remember as long as she lives.

Suncloud's mouth parts and the first syllable of one of his questions spills out, but there comes a knock at the door before he even gets out a whole word.

"Your breakfast." The centaur opens the door quickly and ushers in the maid with quiet thanks before sending her right out again. Mira looks at him, confused.

"You were never very fond of strangers," he explains. "I thought…well-"

"Thank you." Mira smiles as he brings the tray over.

The moment the smell of porridge and eggs and toast and fresh fruit wafts from the tray, Mira's stomach sees fit to growl rather enthusiastically.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I guess I was hungry after all."

Suncloud is uncertain again, and it must be that he doesn't know whether to ask his questions now or to wait until after she's eaten.

"Go ahead," Mira says through a mouthful of poached eggs and lightly browned toast. "I don't mind, really."

Now that's a bit of a lie, but white lies do serve a purpose at times.

Suncloud shifts around more, but at length he does spit it out like she's hoping he will.

"Where have you been? We were all so worried, and we thought…" Suncloud can't finish, and Mira is only confused. They thought what? Well, she can answer that later.

"I went home to help someone," she says, pausing to pop a slice of apple into her mouth after the salty eggs. She fights back a grimace; apples are rougher on her tender throat. "I did leave a note."

"Yes," Suncloud says. "But that was so long ago."

What? She remembers only a month. A month can't be that long, can it?

"What do you mean?"

Suncloud looks at her incredulously. "Mira, you've been gone for four years."

What?

"Four years?"

Mira isn't sure if that's her voice cracking through the air, even as the last syllable echoes on the tip of her tongue.

"Are you sure?" She can't have heard that right. That's impossible by all the laws of logic, every last one of them. Mira opts for another piece of apple to crunch on while she waits for her friend to answer, ignoring the discomfort of the rough fruit skin.

"You heard me correctly. Was it not so long for you?"

Mira swallows the apple and takes another bite of eggs, delaying her answer. She ends up pushing the words past the half-chewed egg because Suncloud looks so curious and even worried.

"Try a month," she mumbles.

Silence descends, and when that bite of breakfast is gone Mira doesn't reach for anything else. A month was four years…that's enough to quell her appetite for days.

"Time is…different, between your world and Narnia…" Suncloud gets out, now as thoroughly shocked as her. "It could have been much worse, I suppose."

Mira can only stare down at her hands, sticky with apple juice and keenly aware of a pesky crumb in the corner of her mouth. It occurs to her that getting rid of the annoying remnant of her eggs-on-toast is a good idea, but she's frozen with shock as the reality sets in.

_Four years…four years…_

Suncloud's words echo in her mind on repeat.

"What's happened here?" she hears herself ask, the words thick and distant on her tongue.

"King Caspian has been away for almost a year seeking the Seven Lords of Telmar. They were his father's closest friends. The Giants of the North have surrendered, as have the Calormen armies."

Mira is thankful she at least attempted to learn about Narnia before her unplanned departure, or she'd have no earthly clue what Suncloud was talking about.

"That's…good?" She has to guess, of course, because those things sound all well and good but other things could have happened that her friend isn't mentioning. Similar to how she has no intention of divulging what exactly happened in the past month for her, he could be leaving out things as well.

"We thought you dead, Mira," Suncloud suddenly blurts. "All of us who knew, and even with the note, after four years…it's a shock to see you."

Now she truly is speechless. Why would they think that when she'd already died?

Oh. She failed to mention that, didn't she? Both in person and in the note. Well, better to address that than what the most recent happenings are.

"I'm sorry," Mira says. "I suppose I should have explained things better."

Suncloud looks at her askance, confused and hopeful.

She clears her throat and begins, "You recall my distinct lethargy the last few days I was here?" At his nod, she continues. "Well, that was because I'd already died. No, I can't explain it. All I know is that I fell asleep, woke in the hospital, died, and somehow woke up in Narnia."

"You never said anything," Suncloud answers, the hurt singing through the air.

"I should have, I know," Mira says. "But I didn't know how to say it. I thought I'd have time later to explain, but..." Her gaze slides back to the tray of apples and the rapidly cooling eggs on toast.

"I suppose I can't blame you."

Mira is seconds away from exhaling in relief when Suncloud opens his mouth again.

"But Caspian will want to know more. He was worried, Mira. He worried for months, years."

She acutely remembers his concern; it was, after all, a mere month ago for her. He had suspected something was up, but she didn't have the strength to tell him then. But now, after everything else, that seems so pale and insignificant compared to what she'll be keeping from him now.

"I'm sorry about that, I truly am," she says. "I'll explain when he arrives."

Oh god. When he arrives, he will want to know more than just that, if he catches even a hint of how she's changed. And she told him in the note that she was going to help a friend, and he is sure to ask how that went, and she has already decided that is **not** something she will discuss.

"I think that would be well." Suncloud jolts her from her escalating worries and she can only pray he can't read them on her face.

Her mouth dry and throat aching from all the speaking, she asks, "When will he be back?"

"Perhaps in a few weeks, perhaps another month. We aren't sure of the precise date."

That gives her more than enough time to disappear again. Of course, she'll remain in Narnia this time but better to disappear and pull herself together alone than deal with the questions and the concerns she's not ready for. If she stays here to work it out, she'll only be a burden.

"All right," is all she says.

Suncloud narrows his eyes at her changed tone. Gone is the shock; withdrawal has taken its place, and they both know it.

"I'm just getting tired," Mira explains with a pinch of guilt in her gut.

Suncloud nods, though his suspicion still lingers in the creases around his eyes.

"I will return in a few hours' time. Rest well."

With that, she's left alone with her thoughts in a room that suddenly feels far too large.

* * *

It should be a relief, having the room to herself, with no one asking her questions and no need to use her voice. But there are far too many shadows, even with the morning sun shining through the sheer curtains. Not even the sun can chase away the shadows in the corners and at the edges of the furniture.

With so many shadows, it's easy to think one of them is moving. Easy to think she can see a pair of glinting, victorious eyes shining out from the darkest of them. Easy to wonder if she should have finished what she started. Who knows where he is now?

Mira's neck aches at just the vague, flickering memory of him. That shot still rings in her ears. She wishes desperately that he'd shot her instead.

A bird chirps outside the window. It's a cheerful, innocent sound but it makes Mira's body tense just the same. Even friendly things seem like a trap now.

The bird cheeps again, brown wings and orange chest fluttering in and out of Mira's line of vision. Doesn't it have better things to do? Catching worms, say?

This is technically her time to rest, but how can she sleep with that chirping bird and all the shadows? Even the bed feels too confining, the sheets too tight around her legs. How could she run, tangled up so?

Mira supposes she's meant to be on bedrest, but there's not any rest to be had, so she wiggles out of the covers and plants shaky feet on the floor. The stone is almost unbearably cold beneath her toes. She straightens her legs and pushes off the bed to stand anyway, ignoring the shivers that suddenly arrest her body. At least the cold will keep her alert.

She's safe here, and she knows that. But feeling restless and on edge is an old habit, hard to break. It hasn't been years for her.

Mira begins by pacing the room, investigating each shadow personally and periodically. If it looks like one of them is even considering moving, she darts back over on numbing feet and makes sure it stays put. On her fifth revolution about the room, she starts looking for a space to try to rest. The bed is out of the question; it's up against a wall and it doesn't leave many options for quick escapes. No matter how unnecessary such escapes will be, she'll feel infinitely calmer knowing she simply can.

She checks the wardrobe first. It's the hiding instinct's first choice. But there's only one door and not nearly enough dresses and long cloaks to conceal her entirely. Next comes the floor in front of the mirror. It was her favorite spot the last time she was here; she could see all around her and knew instantly whenever someone was at the door. But now all those shadows she inspected seem to dance at the corners of her peripheral vision. Like they're toying with her.

Mira shakes off the shivers on her skin and continues on to the bathroom. It's bigger than the closet, and perhaps the towels will hide her. But the moment she steps inside, all she can see is the one door and one chance to make it out. She races back into her room with her heart pounding against her ribcage. The veins in her neck throb.

Next the sofa. It's comfortable, perfectly plush and easy to sink into. And it's not too confining. It's the best option thus far, if only it didn't have a back. Mira can't see over it easily enough to suit her tastes.

She tries the chair at her dressing table, each corner of the room, the rack of iron tools next to the fireplace. Nothing suits her. She could scream.

And to make it even better, the door to her room is closed tight. On the one hand, this affords her privacy from any prying eyes, and no one here would enter a room they weren't invited into. But on the other, she's boxed in, contained in a strange room with no other way out than that one door. Ignoring the window, that is. It's a long way down from there, and she knows she'd have to be truly desperate to use that exit.

Boxed in with dancing shadows. She'd have given anything to be worried about nothing but shadows not two days ago.

At last, Mira finds some cobbled-together solution. She liked being next to the iron fire poker, and she liked feeling hidden away in the closet. With hands that shake a little less than before, she retrieves the sharpest of the fire tools and shimmies under the bed, right in the middle. She's hidden, she can slither out three different sides, and she has a weapon clasped in her hand. It's the best compromise.

She wouldn't say she rests, but spotty sleep is better than none.

* * *

The slight clicking and creaking of the door flings Mira from her restless napping. Her hand tightens around the fire poker, the iron cool and heavy against her fingers. Her nails dig into the pulpy flesh of her palm. Her breath stills in her lungs, though her heart picks up a stuttering and frantic rhythm.

"Mira?"

No need to be afraid, she reassures herself; it's only Suncloud, come to check on her after her so-called rest. Still, she slides out the side farthest from him so he won't know exactly where her new hiding place is.

He calls for her again. She starts, still half concealed by the bed-skirt. The fire poker rattles against the stone floor.

"Mira?" Suncloud calls again, the name flying toward her just a little quicker than the first time.

"I'm fine." Mira finally gets free of the bed and hurries to get her legs underneath her. "I'm here."

When she stands, she meets the darting eyes of her centaur friend and is at once relieved she no longer has the iron fire tool in her hand. What questions would come from that?

Suncloud tries to smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards, but his eyes betray him; though his lips succeed in curling just the tiniest bit upward, his eyes are stormy and heavy.

"Are you well?"

Oh, the caustic replies she could toss back at him. Mira is tempted, sorely tempted, but then she'll run the risk that her behavior will attract even more confusion than it has already. He's not seen the fire poker, nor does he know precisely where she was. She can use that. Never mind that there's no need.

"I was just looking for something." she lies. It should bother her that the fib slips so easily from behind her teeth.

Suncloud nods once, a sharp and curt gesture that instantly chills the room. If she didn't know him so well, Mira would assume he's angry with her. But no, he's merely afraid. Not of her, no, that'd make no sense. But for her, perhaps? Or of another disappearing act?

"I'm not going to vanish," Mira whispers. The quiet murmur tickles and pecks at her throat.

Suncloud shifts from hoof to hoof.

"You should rest, Mira. It will help you recover."

She nods, casting her eyes down in the hopes he won't see that she, quite literally, can't. She's not ready for even Suncloud to see that telltale sign of her difficulty yet. The state of her neck when he found her was more than enough as it is.

"I did." Lies are so easy now, but then again she did have to use them quite often in the past month. Her lies far outnumbered her truths, but it had to be that way.

Suncloud clops closer, a blatant apology swimming in his eyes as he says, "I would have given you the cordial, but it is with King Caspian."

"I know." Mira climbs back into bed as she does her best to reassure the centaur that it's fine. She's not so very sure he's reassured.

"Perhaps something cold –"

"No." She winces at the snap in her voice. "I mean, no need. I'd rather not feel anything around my neck."

Suncloud looks anywhere at all other than at her. Mira immediately regrets her words, but what else could she say? She couldn't have endured anything in close proximity to her neck no matter the reason.

Time to change the subject. Anything to stop those silent questions, that unspoken worry in Suncloud's gaze.

"Where's the library?"

"Library?" Suncloud echoes. His brow furrows as he stares back at her, confusion slowly taking the place of concern.

Mira wets her lips and wills her voice to stay steady. "Sleeping won't pass all the time."

Especially because she'll be lucky to sleep at all.

Suncloud nods slowly. "I can bring you the books, if you wish."

Does he think her so fragile she can't find her way through a few hallways? Besides, she'd rather pick out the books on her own. Will he suspect her intentions if she asks for what she really wants?

Mira is afraid he will, so she simply asks for histories of Narnia and her neighbors, on the pretense that she never finished educating herself. She thanks him when he returns with the books and curls up in bed with the first one in the stack. But that night, when the rest of the castle is asleep and the dancing shadows are the worst they've been yet, she slips from her room on her tiptoes and wanders around the deserted hallways, jumping at empty corners, until she finds the library.

She spends all night poring over the maps. She can't, after all, stay here forever.

* * *

**And Arc 2 begins! Do leave me a comment or message me with your thoughts, I love hearing from you guys :)**

**Universal Lego - Wow, thank you so much! I'm very flattered. The waiting period is now officially over ;)**

**Review!**


	21. Arc 2: I Can't Stay

**I'm not sure if I should completely give up on an updating schedule, since the last chapters have been so late, but I also probably won't get anything done without them. So maybe in another month I'll get the next chapter out, cross your fingers.  
**

**Also for this chapter, well, maybe have a stress ball or something to yell at...you might not need it, but I did. :P**

* * *

**Chapter 20**

_Slipping past a frayed screen door. A splinter in her finger from the rotting doorframe. A key hidden under a ratty rug. _

_Searching through rooms piled with old pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Nothing. Clutching her head, trying to keep the memories away._

_Tires crunch on the driveway; the slight skid of rubber on ground resonates. _

_He's home._

_Whirling around trying to find someplace to hide, any place. He's too close to risk trying to sneak out the back door – she can hear him getting out of the car now. He slams the door behind him. There's only the sofa or maybe under the bed. But if she goes in that room again…no, she needs as clear a head as she can get. So she dives behind the sofa and thanks Aslan there's more than enough junk under the couch to conceal her. She finds a position she can hold for a while just as a key clicks in the front door. She barely even gets in a calming breath before he's coming through the front door with a bang juxtaposed with lazy footsteps._

_Now that he's inside, in the same building, the same room, she hardly dares to breathe. It seems as though her heart is loud enough for him and every neighbor within five miles to hear it, but she doesn't hear him coming toward her hiding place. Still, there are awful moments when she hears him walking closer and it's those times that she truly can't breathe._

_"Well done, Bates, well done indeed." His voice, as slippery and disgusting as ever, floats over her way. Is he talking to himself? She supposes he must be; there's no one else here. Aside from her, of course, but he doesn't know that._

_He lazes about the disastrous excuse for a kitchen for minutes that feel like hours, muttering to himself the whole time in an entirely too pleased sort of tone. Miranda knows without a doubt now that he does indeed have Leila, but she can't work out where; he never mentions so much as a syllable about her whereabouts. _

_After far too long of this – he even recalls to himself some of the grotesque details of what he plans to do when he gets back there tonight – Bates clomps along down the hall, presumably to his room. Yes, she remembers how his footsteps echoed in the small corridor that night, and they sound similar now. _

_He rustles around in there long enough that Miranda starts to get a cramp in her side from curling up so tightly among the trash and junk. She doesn't want to think about what, exactly, he's rustling in there for. She wishes he hadn't declared it so loudly to what he thought was an empty room, because now she has to fight rather hard not to focus on the sobering fact that he planned to do all those things with Leila, with her best friend, with the person she sort of came back from the dead to protect._

_If only she had some sort of weapon and a little less fear – she hates him enough now to drive a knife through his throat. It would save Leila, wouldn't it? Wouldn't it?_

_At those thoughts, Miranda gets a sudden wave of shame, and at once she knows it's Aslan. He wants her to find another way, a way that does not involve spilling blood. He wants her to know that there is another way, more importantly, and that she'll find it soon. _

'All I have to do is look,'_ Miranda thinks to herself, though the thought isn't entirely her own._

'Alright Aslan,'_ she continues. _'We'll do this your way.'

* * *

A cheery chirp wakes her from a light nap. Mira jolts, hoping the map didn't leave an imprint on her cheek as she sprints out to put her materials back. A faun with grey streaks in his curls prances inside just as she puts the last map away, and on instinct Mira jumps behind a shelf and waits for him to turn away before sprinting soundlessly from the library.

'_Please Aslan, don't let anyone else be up yet,'_ she prays. How to explain herself if they are? If someone, mainly Suncloud, finds her not in her room as expected and asks where she's been?

Mira skids to a rather ungraceful stop outside her door and grasps the doorknob with clammy fingers. No sooner has she started to turn the handle than it jerks out of her grip, sending her door flying open.

Mira stumbles and her arms fly out to stop her tumble. And oh Lion, she just barely avoids crashing into Suncloud. The old Mira would have shrieked and perhaps smacked his arm for scaring her. This Mira just stares, frozen and with wide unfriendly eyes. She's learned to keep her silence under most circumstances.

"Lion, Mira!" Suncloud grasps her upper arms, as if afraid she'll still lose her balance and crash forward at any moment. "Where were you?"

Her mouth flaps open and closed, her tongue like sand against her teeth. What to say, how to explain…no she can't tell the truth!

"I'm sorry," Mira finally answers, voice as smooth as molten glass. She's far too startled to lose her cool, and no one can see weakness in her. "I woke and couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought a walk around the castle would do me good."

Mira isn't sure where that calm and logical explanation came from, but she's at once grateful for the past month that trained her how best to react to surprises. She'd never have been able to lie so smoothly before.

Suncloud seems to realize a new facet of her change; he stares at her for a long moments, looking at her like she's suddenly a stranger. She needs to add a kernel of truth to this explanation, make it sound more like her old self.

"The shadows," she murmurs, looking down at her feet. "They wouldn't stop dancing around. I couldn't sleep much."

It works; Suncloud softens and releases her arms. "I'm sorry, Mira," he says, though he probably isn't sure what he's apologizing for any more than she is. "I was worried you'd gone again."

Mira forces a tentative smile and slips past him into the room. "Come now, I'd have left a note."

The attempt at humor falls flat, and for a moment Suncloud stiffens beside her. Mira quickly taints her smile with sadness, and he softens again. The manipulation makes her insides curdle a bit, but it's better than him knowing about the library and the maps. He'd never understand, he'd try to keep her here.

"That isn't funny."

Suncloud's tone only further convinces her to keep her mouth shut. He'll know her true intentions only when she's gotten away. Still, Mira softens.

"I'm sorry," she finds herself whispering, looking a her old friend in the mirror. "But really, I just couldn't sleep. The room doesn't look so friendly at night."

"I can stay with you, if – "

"No," Mira answers, perhaps a little too quickly. "No," she tries again, less harshly this time. "I've no wish to be subjected to your snores."

There; the centaur smiles now, and a little of their old merriment from years ago twinkles back into the present. It dawns on Mira just how much she missed him, even if only for that month.

They manage an only slightly awkward round of small talk before the maid brings breakfast in. Mira thanks her before Suncloud ushers her out, as quickly as before. She convinces him to eat with her, and they sit on the rug at the foot of the bed to remember their old times in the Shuddering Woods a little better.

"Could we go to the beach?" Mira asks through a mouthful of eggs. She's vaguely heard waves crashing outside, and the wild impulse seems right to suggest.

The suggestion wins her a smile. Suncloud looks immeasurably pleased at the proposition and agrees to go with her within the hour. He even brushes off his morning archery, something she's sure to tease him about. Let him think she's only half so damaged and heartsick as she is. Besides, it'll be good for him – she sees the telltale lines around his eyes that speak of his long held concern.

* * *

"You're sure I'm not getting you in trouble?" Mira knows well he doesn't care even if she is, but it's a piece of her old playfulness.

"Don't be silly, Mira. Why ever would I care about that?" Suncloud replies with something close to ease. The worry engrained in his face lightens a touch more and Mira swells with pride.

"I should thank you for that nickname, you know." Suncloud tilts his head toward her, and Mira has to squint against the morning sun to meet his eyes. "Feels like a fresh start. And it's so much easier to say." She tacks on that last bit with a grin that very nearly reaches her eyes and things almost feel as they should.

Suncloud shrugs, but his smile is genuine. "It suited you. But I'm glad you approve."

Brief silence stretches between them, but it's not so burdened as usual. They could stride along the shore for hours like this, and Mira thinks neither of them would mind. She wouldn't, at least.

"You should come to the archery range soon. The fresh air may do you good." Suncloud breaks the silence with relative ease, but his words are almost too soft to hear over the waves.

Mira takes a deep breath of the salty air and renews her smile. "I'd like that. Though I'm afraid I wasn't ever much good with it."

A gull shrieks overhead just as Suncloud opens his mouth to answer. They smile up at the interrupter before he continues. "I am a patient teacher."

"And so you are." Mira turns her face into the sea breeze and remembers how they first met. "You told me endless stories of Narnia, remember?"

"How could I forget? And you were still convinced all of this was a dream!" Suncloud laughs his first real laugh since she's gotten back. It's small, rumbling from someplace deep in his chest, but Mira feels a swell of pride. She can still be of some use to the people she cares about.

"Can you blame me?" Mira answers with a new lightness in her step that the thrill of memory brings. "I woke in the strangest place with talking animals for company! What would you have thought in my place?"

Suncloud shakes his head, a smile left over from his laugh still lingering on his lips. "Coming from a world without magic, I suppose the same. At least you've worked it out now."

"Yes," Mira says. "I have."

And just like that the silence is loaded again. Perhaps Suncloud doesn't sense it, but Mira does. She can practically feel the double meaning of her words pressing a wall between them, hiding her behind some impenetrable defense. She's learned to be that way, but for the first time in months she wishes it wasn't so.

All at once, Mira realizes she doesn't want to leave. Doesn't want to do that to Suncloud, to Caspian, again. Doesn't want to miss them again, doesn't want to have to be alone again. For a foolish, fleeting moment, she believes she could do it – just stay here at Cair Paravel and wait for Caspian and say hello. Someday, she'd tell them enough to quell the curiosity, and they'd go on as close as ever.

But it's just that – a fool's moment. A thing of no substance. Mira knows well she can't stay here. The only way past all of this mess is to work it out on her own. She won't make them watch that awful process. She won't let them.

"Mira?"

Suncloud is noticing the change now; he looks down at her like he can feel the secrets she's keeping. Something in her stomach twists.

Mira slips into a smile. "Sorry," she says. "Lost in thought. Easy to do by a sea shore."

Suncloud accepts this with little trouble – the lilt at the end of her voice must've done the trick. But the deception keeps her from meeting his gaze directly.

"Were there shores like this, in your world?" Suncloud asks, innocently enough. But oh, Mira knows him, knows what he's eventually getting at. Her world. Where it all happened. It's a clever segue, she has to admit. She plays along anyway.

"Lots. I lived near a coastal area with my family. Every summer we'd rent a house right on the beach for at least a week." To Mira's surprise, she actually recalls a particularly lovely summer there with ease. She can almost see the rustic wooden walls, the hammock underneath the porch where she'd read the latest book her mother had recommended. She used to pick up seashells and make necklaces for Leila for those rare years her friend couldn't make it.

Leila.

The wistful smile of childhood memories falls off Mira's face quicker than she can catch it. She's too late, and now Suncloud's glancing over and watching the whole thing. He waits, cautiously expectant. Does he think they'll come spilling out so easily, her secrets?

"It was busier than this, lots of houses and so many people on the beach. But still, nice." Mira is determined to get back on track; Suncloud won't pry it from her with his silent stares and his vaguely hopeful eyes. These are her secrets, her agonies, and she'll be damned if she lets him take them from her. She tells a memory of picking up the seashells. Let Suncloud see she won't be fooled, won't be pulled into divulging her tales.

This. This is precisely why she has to go. How can she work through it all in the midst of all this concern and overbearing attempts at help? Mira doesn't particularly care that Suncloud means well, that he only wants the best for her. She doesn't want to share; that should be enough.

"Do you miss it? I know you just went back, but…" Suncloud isn't taking the hint, apparently. It's a gentle probe, subtle enough that months ago she might not have noticed it. But oh, she notices now.

Mira shrugs and buries her turbulent thoughts behind her well-practiced façade. "It had its virtues, but I think I like Narnia better. Besides, it's not like I can go back. Dead, remember?"

Suncloud winces, the memory of her disappearance still too fresh. Perhaps Mira shouldn't have brought that up…but what else to do? He'd worm the truth from her, she had to stop him. Even now, Mira is still protecting herself.

Then an idea seems to descend on the centaur – he straightens just a bit and fixes his gaze straight ahead. His words, when they come, aren't what she was expecting.

"That's what happened, isn't it?"

Mira frowns. He thinks…what?

"You died, didn't you?" Suncloud continues. "That didn't happen before, did it?"

Mira is moments away from shouting curses and marching away from Cair Paravel for good, moments away from telling him he's oh so wrong and how dare he try to guess what awful things happened in her time away. He may be her friend, but this isn't the sort of friendship she wants right now. She opens her mouth to tell him so, her eyebrows pinched almost to touching, but before the ugly words can tumble out Mira has an idea of her own.

Let him think that. Let him think that's her big secret so he won't press her any further. If he thinks he's solved the mystery, he might finally leave it lie.

So Mira makes her shoulder slump and her head hang in the closest thing to confirmation she can give him. "Nicely done, Sherlock," she bites out with a strange mixture of put-on sadness and genuine anger. "You've unraveled the mystery."

The sand suddenly feels coarse and hostile against the soles of her feet. Mira doesn't want to listen to the crashing of waves or the screeching of gulls any longer.

"We should get back," she says, before Suncloud can reply. "I think some reading would do me good."

Suncloud stutters something about walking her back and he's sorry for whatever happened, but Mira doesn't want to listen to him right now. Maybe later, in the darkest parts of the night when she's in the library poring over maps, she'll think back on this and forgive him with the ease of practiced friendship. But that moment is many hours away, and all she really wants is to be alone.

"Would you like company for dinner?" the now contrite centaur asks when they stand in front of her door with servants bustling by around them.

"Please," Mira finds herself saying. "I'd like that very much."

Suncloud opens the heavy wooden door and ushers her inside with one final apology. He leaves her be then, just as she's been wishing for. No sooner does the door rumble shut than Mira scrambles back under the bed, retrieving the fire poker on her way.

* * *

It's an awkward dinner that night. Suncloud tries to break the obvious ice, and so does Mira after a little while. She knows she'll be leaving soon, and not knowing when she'll see her friend again brings compassion from behind the anger. But no matter both their efforts, their talk on the beach looms thick and heavy in the air. At length, Suncloud breaks.

"Mira, I can't stand it anymore. I'm sorry for this morning, truly. I shouldn't have pried." Suncloud shifts in his seat but he isn't afraid to meet her eyes. He really is sorry, and seeing the sincerity in his familiar brown eyes softens Mira.

"You're right, you shouldn't've." Mira says. "But it's all right."

Suncloud's eyes widen just a bit, the relief palpable alongside the surprise.

"I know you'd never mean anything but the best." The words meant to comfort her friend end up comforting Mira too. She was short this morning, shorter than she should've been. Though her mind is now more made up than ever about the necessity of leaving, it stings now to think of leaving Suncloud again. Deep down, she knows she can always trust him.

* * *

Mira spends the next few weeks training. She passes off the archery as a pastime and the books as a way to keep busy, the long talks with the healers as mere curiosity. But at night when she studies the maps, it's all business. Mira works out the best way out of Cair Paravel without being noticed, the quickest route southward after that. She chooses a large mountain named Stormness Head as her destination. On the border between Narnia and Archenland, it should be relatively safe, but remote enough that she won't have to worry about other people much. Stormness Head is perfect, as long as she stays away from Stormness Gap. She's been carefully cataloging anything related to living in the mountains: food to find, medicines, common illnesses, weather to plan for, clothing to bring, and anything else she can think of. Just because she's going into self-imposed exile doesn't mean she won't take care of herself.

Her nights get longer as she nears the final stages of her preparations to leave. She's been stockpiling food from the meals she doesn't take with Suncloud, anything that'll keep. It should keep her fed for a few days as she makes her way out of reach. The maps are practically burned into her skull by now, so permanently Mira couldn't forget them even if she wanted to. She dreams about the maps, sometimes. The other things in her sleeping world, she won't think about. At least, not until she's safely at Stormness Head and well established with her new life. Living off the land still sounds daunting, but not nearly so much as staying here does.

Then one day, Mira runs out of time.

"King Caspian has reached Galma," Suncloud tells her one sunny afternoon during lunch. "We expect his return very soon."

"Oh." Mira can't muster up any more words than that, but Suncloud seems to understand. He's really been wonderful these weeks, all kindness and understanding. He hasn't asked about her time away since that morning on the beach.

"He'll understand, Mira." Suncloud seems entirely certain of this, but Mira is not. How can she face him again?

During her weeks of training, Mira had put Caspian from her mind and refused to think about him. Now, she can't avoid him. She remembers well how gentle and kind he was with her during her first time in Narnia. He grew into the person she felt safest with. But he was so worried there at the end, and just the little Suncloud's told her indicates he's not about to let her off the hook so easily as her centaur friend has done.

Lunch ends in silence, and Mira goes to her favorite spot under the bed when Suncloud leaves her. The fire poker waits for her like an old friend. There, curled up on the floor with the occasional dust-bunny for company, Mira realizes what's truly bothering her.

She's afraid of him. She's afraid of Caspian.

She can't pinpoint why. Perhaps it's fear of disappointing him, perhaps it's fear that he's angry with her. Or perhaps she's afraid he wants too much from her, wants more than she can give. Mira can't evade both Caspian and Suncloud – evading the latter was difficult enough. Suncloud still hopes she'll tell him something; she can see it in the flickering hope when he thinks she isn't watching. But she's always watching now.

For a fleeting moment, Mira gets the wild idea that she can hide under the bed forever, just pretend she doesn't exist. It'd be cozy, and she wouldn't mind the loneliness. It's just safer that way.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came, and she's left on the chilly floor with more apprehension than ever. Of course she knew she'd have to leave soon, but so soon? A very soon return means she has days only, perhaps less, before Caspian is back. She's got to leave tonight, so she has a head start. Mira isn't sure, but her heart tells her Caspian will come after her if he can. She doesn't want to be found, so she can't wait even another day.

Mira spends her precious hours until dinner packing. She'd snagged a used flour sack from the kitchens a week ago, and now she piles in everything she's been collecting over the weeks: food that won't spoil, the book on botany a healer named Gavin gifted to her, the bow and arrows Suncloud gave her, extra clothes, and a white-grey cloak she's been working on this whole time. Mira doesn't think life on Stormness Head will bring her close to many people, but the Pass is still nearby enough stragglers might come. Her only plan right now is hiding, and the cloak for scaring anyone who ventures too close away. The last thing she packs away is parchment, a quill, and enough ink to last her a good year. Suncloud was a little suspicious as to how she kept using up inkwells so quickly, but it was worth it to have something to keep her sane in her solitude.

Dinner comes, and she takes it alone in her room, eating only the things that won't keep. The rolls go into her sack, along with the roast chestnuts and the fruit that was dessert. With all of her stockpiling, she should be fed long enough to get to Stormness Head, especially if she gathers along the way.

The last thing to do is leave notes. It's very similar to before, and Mira does wish it didn't have to be like this. But what else can she do? She can't face Caspian, and she can't sort it all out here. She wishes she could say a proper goodbye to Suncloud at the very least, because even if he's pried he's still one of her closest friends and she doesn't want to do this to him again. But she's sure he would stop her, and has no reason to think otherwise. She doesn't have a choice.

So while the rest of the castle falls asleep, Mira stays up and writes to Caspian and Suncloud both.

_Suncloud,_

_I'm so sorry to do this to you again. I did want to say goodbye to you properly, but I'm terrified you'd stop me from this. Know that if I could have, I'd never just disappear with only a note again._

_I can't stay here. I can't wait for Caspian even, perhaps because I think he'd try and worm the truth out of me even more than you did. You didn't do it much at all really, but it was enough. I think I'd have told you if I could, but I honestly can't put it into words. I dream about it, but I can't think about it. Words just don't work. _

_Thank you for everything you've done, Suncloud. I have a horrid sense of gratitude, you must think so, but you really did make these past few weeks bearable. I don't know what I would have done without you. Please don't blame yourself, as I know you've been prone to do that. _

_I wish I could tell you where I'm going. But I know you'd follow me, and I know that Caspian would come right along with you. I'm leaving because I don't want to be found, because what happened in my world needs sorting out. I can't do that here, I have to do it alone. I'm so sorry, but if there were another way for me to figure out how to deal with this, believe me I'd have done it. _

_I may come back someday, but I have no way of knowing when. Don't wait for me; in fact, forget me if you must. If I see you again I'll apologize for all this properly._

_Goodbye, Suncloud._

_Mira_

The letter to Caspian takes twice as long. Mira doesn't know what to say, and what if she says too much and he figures it out? She can't have multiple drafts either, because he'd see them in the waste bin and see what she didn't want him to. And the guilt that came when writing to Suncloud only builds, until she's sniffling and blinking away tears for fear of messing up the page. By the time she actually gets something down, it's well past midnight and she'll be hard pressed to get any decent distance before sunup.

_Caspian,_

_I know Suncloud will have told you that I came back, but I wanted you to read it from my own hand. I'm sorry you thought me dead; I never intended that. Time passes differently here, and four years for you was mere months for me. I'm sorry, but now I have to leave again._

_I know you must be angry, and hurt. I know you probably think the worst of me for leaving with nothing left but a note again, but Caspian, you'd stop me if I waited for you. Suncloud too, that's the only reason I'm not saying my goodbyes properly. _

_I don't know how long I'll be away. I can't tell you where, because you'd find me, and I can't tell you why, because I've never even thought the words. I don't know how to put any of it into speech. That's why I have to go away, because I have to work it out. Alone. I'm sorry, but it's the best thing, it really is._

_Please don't try to find me. I may come back one day, but don't wait for me. I think I'll be gone years again, and I need this. I wouldn't do this if I could manage otherwise. Please believe me._

_I do wish I'd been able to see you, just once before I go. I knew when we first got started talking that you'd be a great king, and I know I wasn't wrong. I'd have liked to see the king you've become. Perhaps someday I will, but I can't promise anything without fear it might be a lie. _

_Goodbye, Caspian._

_Mira_

* * *

**Do leave a review, they help me post chapters faster. :)**


	22. Arc 2: Don't Follow Me

**So there's a fun story about this chapter. It was almost done, but the night I was a couple hundred words from finishing a spider descended from my ceiling, scared the ****everliving shizzle out of me, and I spent the next few days fumigating my apartment and praying to every deity I've ever heard of. Good times. Here's the kicker: I was writing this chapter when it happened. I got up to blow out a candle, and then BAM. Hell on eight legs. I couldn't touch this again for almost a week, out of the irrational fear that these words somehow attracted the beast. So if any of you have brilliant tips for permanently deterring spiders, please let me know. I can't take many more heart palpitations like this. And with that lovely intro, let's get into the chapter!**

**And thank you wildhorses1492 for the lovely reviews! **

* * *

**Chapter 21**

_I had to do it. I had to do it. No, I can't go back._

Perhaps if Mira repeats it enough, she'll believe it.

She shoulders her sack and trudges on through the early morning mists, Cair Paravel shrinking ever smaller behind her. The words she left for Suncloud and Caspian in those two crisp envelopes on the nightstand ring through her mind, mocking her. Mira shouldn't be running away again with just a note. It's a bit cruel, and she knows it. Yet, no matter the echo of her words or the sharp stabs of guilt in her chest, she can't turn around and take it back. Mira wishes she could, that she could stop herself from hurting Caspian and Suncloud yet again. They worried for four years, and here she is giving them cause to worry again.

But all her resolve needs is the echo of a gunshot from the past and her legs pump ever faster, taking her away from the people she loves.

Loves? When did she start loving them? Mira shakes her head, whipping it from side to side in the hopes of uprooting the strange warmth in her chest when she thinks of them. Suncloud, who was the first to make her feel at home in a strange new place, who taught her about Narnia, who lifted her spirits when she let him. Suncloud is the closest thing to a brother she's ever had. And Caspian, the boy prince who became a young man before her very eyes. He comforted her, trusted her, and she trusted him more than any other. She can't quite call him brother, because it's another feeling entirely. Mira refuses to name it, can't stand to explore it. It twists in her stomach when her self-control slips.

Mira realizes with a start that her cheeks are wet, and not from the morning dew. She swipes at her eyes with something akin to anger. When she'd found Leila, she'd sworn never to get close to anyone again. And now here she is, breaking her own rule. Just as Leila would have been better off never knowing her, so too would Caspian and Suncloud have been happier. Mira reminds herself of her best friend, forces her mind to replay that gunshot over and over until she's outright sprinting through the forest, damp leaves smacking her face. They'll be better without her, and in time they'll forget all about her. She never should have told either of them anything.

Mira still wants to go back.

Even when she crests a hill and Cair Paravel is no longer visible through the trees, she actually thinks she could. Lion, leaving was supposed to be so much easier than this. Stumbling through the forest was supposed to feel like freedom. Exile was supposed to be a relief, not this strange burden. Is her resolve really so weak?

_It's better this way_. Mira has to believe that.

Her feet falter in their flight, and she can't help but turn around. _Just one last look_, she promises herself. _Just one._

The Cair pops back into sight when she goes back to the height of the hill. Mira stumbles, catches herself against a tree. It's good she left when she did.

A ship is sailing toward Cair Paravel, with royal purple sails and what looks like a dragon's head for the bow. King Caspian is close indeed, and she was lucky to leave when she did. Mira truly couldn't have waited another hour. If she had, that would've been the end of it and she never would've gotten away. They can't help her, and she has to keep them from trying. They'll only get hurt from a burden that isn't theirs. It's hers, and she can't return to them until she can shoulder it on her own. It wouldn't be fair of her to stay.

That thought turns Mira around and pushes her along her way. Perhaps she shouldn't run, perhaps she should be saving her strength. But no, with Caspian so close it's only a matter of time before her notes are found. He may come after her - in fact, she's almost certain he will. Suncloud will help, and if she can't cover enough distance they'll catch her.

Mira ignores the burning in her lungs as she races through the foliage, barely noticing the small cuts that the branches bestow on her for her carelessness. This kind of running is so different from the kind she's used to, but the heavy tightness in her chest is almost the same. She still feels the same pangs in her heart, the same desperation hurling her forward. Yet, Mira doesn't quite feel as if it's her life on the line. No, this kind of running is not just for her - it's for them too. It's to protect them from her memories, from the things she knows would pain them if they knew. She can't do that to Suncloud, not after he welcomed her and befriended her with no reservations at all. And she can't do that to Caspian, because she saw the pain he tried to hide when she blubbered out her troubles on the floor. Her agony hurt him, and she can't do that to him again. She won't. It would be horribly selfish.

Mira only slows when the sun is fully above the horizon.

* * *

_Mira speeds on the way to the thrift store. It's a stormy Saturday, but Leila never misses her weekend treasure hunting sprees, as she calls them. She'll be there. _

_Mira prays to Aslan that _he_ won't be there too, but she knows better than to hope. He's thorough; if he hasn't figured out Leila's schedule by now, he's being uncommonly lazy. _

_Whipping into the nearest parking space, Mira reminds herself that she can't be afraid of him anymore. She's here to help Leila, to distract him. She can't run this time. _I am not afraid. I can't be._ Mira walks inside, cringing at the little tingle of that bell at the door. It's always sounded cheery, but today Mira doesn't exactly want to announce her presence._

_Disappearing into the aisles of strange knick-knacks organized by color feels easy and painfully familiar. It's strange, being in here without Leila. She'd love those matching polar bear figurines - one's ear is missing and the other's golden tail is chipping, but Leila always had a thing for imperfect pieces. Said it gave them character. Mira never quite understood the appeal of a broken trinket, especially since she was sort of broken herself. She always thought they were in the thrift store precisely because they were broken and no one wanted them. But then Leila did, so it was a strangely beautiful thing._

_Mira finds her easily, in the aisle with the reds. Mira's stomach twists just at the sight of Leila - she's thinner, paler, with dark rims under her eyes. She's admiring a chipped vase, turning it this way and that in the light, smiling slightly to herself. There's no doubt that vase has found a home, though Mira wonders how Leila has room for even one more beautiful piece of junk. A smile of her own starts tugging at Mira's lips, but then the moment is stolen._

_He's here. She'd recognize him anywhere. _

_Leila seems to be oblivious, caught up in inspecting the red vase. But Mira sees him, sees the familiar slouch of his back, the __hunt of his soldiers, the oily, unwashed blond curls. He's mere feet away._

_What to do, what to do...what can she do? Mira's heart stutters against her ribs as she tries to think of something, anything. _

_His eyes meet hers. Well, that's something._

* * *

Mira bats away the memory, relishing in the ringing of her left ear from the hit. Her lungs feel afire, in desperate need of the oxygen she's been too busy running to provide. But now that Cair Paravel is well behind her, lost to the dense forest, Mira feels safe enough to slow to a walk. Her body gulps in greedy, desperate breaths of air, and she grabs at her side in an attempt to knead away the stinging under her ribs.

Distantly, the sound of fanfare rises over the trees. Now the whole of Cair Paravel and its surrounding city knows what Mira is running from - Caspian has returned. Perhaps his boots haven't stepped onto the dock yet, but he's here. He's here and oh Lion, why isn't she running?

Mira's side still hurts terribly. The stinging has given way to a knife-like stabbing in her lungs, the sort of stabbing that isn't so easy to breathe through. But she hasn't got the time for this, she simply must start moving. Anything but this slow, lopsided stumble that tells her she should've trained much more vigorously for this moment. She's not even five miles away from the Cair, not even half that, and already her body is rebelling? How can she hope to make it to Storminess Head now?

Deep breaths, she must take deep breaths. But they hurt, and Mira doesn't want to. Just then, the fanfare reaches a crescendo, echoing through the forest and kicking Mira's heart into a frenzy. Her legs shake, but she finds the energy she was lacking. Adrenaline drives her now, adrenaline coached by fear and something like desperation. Mira wishes she didn't feel desperate to get away, even as her legs start propelling her onward once more. She's running from friends who only want to help. They don't want to hurt her, and it's not their fault that she can't stand the thinly veiled curiosity. Just the same, she can't stand it, those lurking questions. Mira doesn't like feeling obligated to trust them, however pure their intentions.

And so she runs.

* * *

_Bates reemerges from his room with a backpack stuffed rather full from the little Miranda can see. She refuses to think about what's in there, because she knows that if she does she'll want nothing more than to end him with her own two hands again, and that's not what Aslan wants. She needs to give the Lion a chance to show her another way. _

_Whatever Bates has in that backpack, it's what he came here for; he leaves almost immediately, turning the lock with a loud click that, at the moment, is the most beautiful sound in the world to Miranda's ears. She sags in relief and immediately regrets it when she crunches up against a bag with some old food in it. Any other time she'd squeal in disgust at the wet squelching sound and feel of it against her shoulder, but Bates isn't far enough away for that luxury. She waits until she hears the car drive away down the road, until she can't hear even the screech of the tires turning a corner, and only then does she emerge from her rather unpleasant hiding place. _

_Thank Aslan that old food was in a bag._

_Miranda shakes herself off and tries not to think about the smell now clinging to her. That's not her main concern right now, though she almost wishes it were. Awful as the smell is, thinking about going back into that room is worse, so much worse. _

_She was just working up the nerve to go in there when he showed up, too. Now it'll be even more difficult to stomach than before, because now she's seen him go in there and it won't be easy to keep her mind from fooling her into thinking he's still there, never mind that she saw him leave._

_"For Leila now, come on," she mutters, pinching her arm in a marginally successful attempt to ground herself. It jolts one of the memories away, but there are still so many left banging at the doors as she inches along toward that hallway._

_She takes her first steps in between the narrow walls and instantly regrets it._

* * *

Mira runs until she collapses. She walks after that, as fast as she can, and only stops for the sunset. Her back aches from her pack, and her stomach's been grumbling for most of the day for want of food. Regardless, Mira can't quite bring herself to settle down for a few hours until a dense fog rolls in. It's the sort of fog that you can't see your hand in if you hold it right out in front of you, the sort anyone can get lost in. Mira thanks Aslan in a whisper. Tonight, she wants nothing more than to be lost.

In the fog, she can be a nobody.

She finds a tree with creaky branches that look like witch fingers to rest under, and it's the safest she's felt in a while. The trunk is almost pleasant against her back, her cloak providing enough of a barrier that the roughness is bearable. The fog wraps around Mira like a cocoon, hiding her from friends and foe alike. Or at least, she imagines it to be so. No one can be out looking for her yet - they'd have found her. She really didn't get that far away.

She'd have heard if they were coming after her, and besides it's far too early. Suncloud might not have even told Caspian she was here yet, though he's definitely read her note. Caspian is surely wrapped up in all sorts of celebrations for his safe return, and once all that's passed he'll have plenty of state matters to keep him busy. But even so, Mira shivers against her witching tree. Once he knows she's in Narnia, she has no doubt he will try to find her, no matter that she explicitly asked him not to. If he's been as worried as Suncloud said, he won't be able to help himself.

Mira chews on the inside of her cheek and wraps her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the metallic taste of blood thick on her tongue. If Caspian did find her, she does trust that he'd leave her alone once she explained herself to him. If she could convince him she'd be better off on her own, Caspian would leave her without a fight. But oh, she doesn't _want_ to explain, because the sort of explaining she'd need to do would be far more involved than she's prepared for. She left specifically to avoid telling anyone what happened with...

"Leila," Mira whispers into the night. "Her name was Leila. And she loved to draw."

She kept so tight a lid on her secrets at Cair Paravel that now Mira is terrified of forgetting the girl who was her best friend. Saying her name is soothing, almost like a promise that she can never be forgotten.

Her eyes were brown. Her hair was short, pixie short and black as midnight. She always had the look of an imp, and she could always be trusted to make Mira smile when she wanted to cry. She never deserved to die.

* * *

_'_Do something Aslan,_' she begs silently with the first of her welling tears trickling down her cheeks. 'P_lease._'_

_She inches closer and tries to think of a way to lure him out without being caught herself. Leila could need her help getting out, and Miranda has to be sure she's there to give it. Inching along carefully, Miranda winds up with her ear pressed against the splintering wooden wall, hoping she hears something that gives her an opening to create a distraction. _

_The only thing she can hear is muffled screams and cries. It's almost exactly like what she dreamed of._

_Any other time, this would break her. But right now, she simply cannot afford to break, and Leila can't afford it either. There will be another time to mourn this, but for now she has to pull herself together._

_She gets a small idea then, a small and tiny idea that maybe might work. It's ridiculously simple and kind of stupid…and oh to hell with it, for the moment it's all she has! _

_Miranda sneaks to the opposite side of the building, finds herself a nice stone, and hurls it through the window as hard as she can. The resulting yells and curses are really quite satisfying - she likes thinking she's pained him even just with a stone's throw. _

_In the same moment all these thoughts are rushing through her head, Miranda is rushing back to her original side, and she makes it past the door just as it's thrown open. Freezing with her heart in her throat, Miranda waits for the inevitable. She waits, and waits, and only when she hears the loud strings of swearing getting quieter does she realize he's not seen her and now the door is wide open. All she has to do is go inside._

_She throws one more stone for good measure before she does, just to keep him busy looking in the woods for the culprit. Then she's inside and Leila's just a room away. That must be her crying._

_Miranda can't think as she bolts to find her best friend, barely notices the rough floor under her feet that's rotting in places or the stale and musty smell of long-forgotten places in the air or the tattered sofa leaning on one side. And when she finds her, when she sees her with torn clothes and bloodied skin and tear trails on her cheeks, for a moment she's too shocked to move. _

_But when Leila groans and shifts Miranda comes to her senses again. Wrapping her in the only blanket she can find, a ratty and tattered thing, Miranda picks up her friend and runs outside again. Bates could be back any moment, and they need to get away now, while they can._

_A gun clicks by her ear. Too late._

* * *

Mira scrambles to her feet and takes off again, flailing her arms through the fog in a mad attempt to swipe it away. It seems thicker than ever, and now she could swear there are shapes in it, ghosts haunting her in her flight.

She never should have left. She should have been the bait long before she realized what Leila would suffer for associating with her. She should have killed him when she had the chance, when he was nothing but a bloody pulp beneath her.

A scream pulls at her throat, but Mira chokes it back. An awful gagging sound echoes back at her, laughing at her frenzy. No no, she can't scream now. Why run if she's going to scream and let the whole world know where she is?

Something hard slams against her foot, and Mira goes down hard on her hands and knees. A myriad of twigs and stones cut into her palms, tearing a cry from her unwilling lips. Dirt is forced into the small cuts, and she swears. Yet on some strange level, Mira's grateful for the pain. It grounds her. With her hands burning from the dirty wounds, she can keep her mind focused on her one goal - escape. Lion, she's got to get out of here. Fog or no, it's better to be lost among the creatures of the night than to stay leaning against a witching tree. That tree can't protect her, and she was foolish to wish it would.

Nothing can.

* * *

The days pass easier once Mira's out of the forest and into the foothills. She feels safer, putting that ever-growing distance between herself and Cair Paravel. No one comes after her, thank the Lion. She's on her own.

Once she's past the foothills, it's back into the forest, but now the mountains loom ahead. Archenland's border isn't too far now. Mira pulls the hood of her cloak closer to her face and presses on. The idea of being beyond Narnia's border feels...safe. It feels relieving, as if a massive weight is slowly lifting off her chest. She needs this, oh she needs the solitude. No one will find her in the Southern Mountains.

Weeks after leaving the Cair, Mira finally comes to Stormness Head. It's a good deal cooler here in the mountains, but she finds she doesn't mind. She's alone at last and for good, and nothing else matters.

And yet, that first sunrise when she goes to bed (she's still not keen on sleeping when the world is dark) brings her a strange dream, an unwelcome dream.

She hates it, but she dreams of Caspian.

* * *

**There we go, done at last. How do you guys think Stormness Head will work out for Mira?**

**If you've got a sec, do leave a review! :)**


	23. Arc 2: Only a Ghost

**Hello, world. Here's the next chapter, just as promised over in Tales of Moonlight. I was sure this would be out a month or so earlier, but then summer classes happened. And now it's Camp NaNo again, I'm almost a third through, and I am basically a zombie at this point. See, I did this thing where I thought it would be a grand ol' time to do a 24-hour writing marathon. Oh yes, I did it - I even got one of my writer buddies to join in the madness. Made my 24k goal with a little time to spare, got pizza, it was great. That was two days ago. I'm still exhausted because now my body has apparently decided that it's going to be tired forever but doesn't want to sleep. Hence, if you notice anything really weird in the last section of the chapter, I apologize, just let me know and I'll fix it immediately. I'm not the most coherent human right now...**

**On a more positive note, thank you so much to joycelyn. o. ting for reviewing the previous chapter. Made my night when I saw it :)**

* * *

**Chapter 22**

Mira's solitude on Stornmess Head serves her well. She finds an old, overgrown cabin hidden against the side of the mountain, and with a bit of cleaning and repairing it's a cozy home. She keeps her journal well, until the words on a page become more real to her than her own voice. Mira is truly alone, and it slowly begins to ease the constant ache in her heart.

The months pass slowly at first, but as the third slips by the rest start to go by a little easier. Sometimes, Mira catches herself looking out north, even though she can't really see Cair Paravel from here. Her cabin is done after that third month, and from there she loses track of time. Her days are the same with very little variation. In the morning, she wakes up well after the sun and sets out to gather berries and nuts. A portion of her gatherings is her breakfast. Her afternoons are full of practicing her aim, both with the bow and with a dagger. The daily practice does wonders for her, and soon she's in the best shape she's been in her entire life.

Sometimes, her practice is interrupted by passers-by, most of whom don't even discover her. But every once in a while, they venture a little too close for her liking and she takes it upon herself to ensure they don't venture so far again. Mira makes sure she never hurts any of them, but she's certainly not above giving them a little scare. She's brought that white-grey cloak for just such occasions, and a few well-timed flashes as she darts soundlessly between the trees are generally enough to frighten any curious folk away. One time, they try to speak to her, and that's when she has to let out a chilling scream. That does the trick, and they never return.

Nighttime is the hardest part of the day. Nighttime is when she thinks of Leila the most. Leila was supposed to go to art school, and she and Mira were supposed to stay the best of friends forever, even through those first years after college when they were both sure to be on a ramen-only budget. They were supposed to commiserate about college papers and cry about their break-ups and have their first cocktails together when they turned twenty-one. There were so many things they were meant to do, and now all of that has been ripped away. It's a wound that doesn't heal so easily, not even as three months double and double again. Mira still cries some nights, but more often she simply sits outside and stares at the moon through the trees.

Tonight, that is exactly what she's doing. The moon is almost full now, and tomorrow it will be. The moon is how Mira takes a guess at how much time has passed. Today, she chased off a relatively determined crew of Archenland hunters. They were a curious lot, and it took more than one well-timed otherworldly screech to drive them away. She'd considered firing an arrow at them, but then they would know she wasn't a specter and moreover they might take it as an attack. But so help her, Mira considered it for more than a few seconds.

Leila would have been amused, if she were here.

Mira tries to shake away the memory of her friend struggling for her life in favor of happier thoughts. Leila always did have a fondness for remembering the good times. She does try, she really does.

But tonight, Mira isn't really in the mood for happy memories.

Her friend is gone, gone without any hope of coming back, and thinking of happier times won't change that. Tonight, Mira is just a little too tired and a little too heartsick to think of all the fun she used to have. A year's solitude can't take away all the ache.

That night passes slowly, inch by inch, and Mira's mood doesn't improve in the slightest. Even when the sun starts to peek through the trees again, she's still as sour and sick as before. She dearly hopes no one has the poor judgment to go exploring around Stormness Head today – she doesn't have the patience to be subtle in chasing them away.

Usually Mira gets at least a few hours of sleep, but tonight was just one of those nights that she couldn't. Leila's sleeping enough for the both of them, anyway.

That thought sends a very unpleasant shiver down Mira's spine as she sets out for her morning berry picking. Today is not going to be one of her better days.

Of course, it's her rotten luck that dictates someone is coming along just as she's pocketing her breakfast. It's a good thing she brings that cloak with her everywhere, but even so she's more annoyed than usual at the intrusion. Some genius just _had _to pick this particular morning to stumble upon her home, didn't they?

With an inward sigh, Mira pulls on the cloak and readies herself. A snap sounds much closer than she was prepared for, and on instinct Mira whips out her bow and spins to face the bushes on her left. Her eyes blaze out from behind her hood as she searches for the roamer who made the noise. Another snapping twig echoes through the woods, almost snapping Mira's patience along with it. If they would just step through the thicket, she could start her theatrics designed to frighten them off and get on with her morning.

She bites her lip on a grunt of impatience and waits tensely for the intruder to show themselves. Her bow is still drawn and ready, but she's just frustrated and gloomy enough that she doesn't quite care, especially not this early in the morning. The sun only finished rising perhaps an hour ago, and Mira usually gets up a good few hours after the glowing orb takes its place in the sky for the day. It's too early for this.

The branches rustle, and a body starts to come through. It looks just the tiniest bit familiar…

Before Miranda has time to puzzle over that, the face emerges and she rushes to pull her hood further over her face even as she draws her arrow back tighter without really needing to.

"Mira?"

What in the name of Aslan is he doing here? He's supposed to be at Cair Paravel, he…how is he here?

Mira feels her gaze sliding to meet his before she can stop herself, and then their eyes are connecting and her breath is catching and she can barely hear anything above the pounding of her heart.

He stares at her like he's seeing a ghost, and indeed that's what she has fashioned herself to look like – a ghost. A ghost who still hasn't lowered her bow. He doesn't blink even with her arrow trained right between his eyes. Since saying her name, he hasn't even opened his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Mira finally chokes out, her voice rough with disuse. Why can't she put down her bow?

"I could ask you the same." His reply comes out sharp and hurt, and it takes her aback. First he was so shocked to see her he couldn't even blink, and now he's angry with her.

"Ask all you like, Caspian," she answers with bitterness dancing across her tongue. "I don't have to answer you."

Now it's his turn to be taken aback, and he seems to notice for the first time that she still has an arrow aimed at his head. He steps closer steadily, and Mira's heart races even faster than before. Before she knows what to do, he's walked right up to her and started to push her bow to the side.

It's the wrong thing to do.

She spins away quicker than anything and draws her knife before he's moved her bow an inch. She drops it anyway, and only once she's gripping her dagger with white knuckles does she realize what she's done. Caspian's angry, she's frightened, and she just treated him like a threat. It sits the wrong way in her gut, but there's no taking it back now. The only thing she can do is stay firm and try to look strong. He does need to leave, but she wishes it didn't have to be such an explosive sort of meeting.

She barely notices that her hood has fallen from her head. She's too busy eyeing him like a cornered deer, though she really doesn't mean to. It just happens, in the same way she drew her arrow on him and her knife after that. She just couldn't help it. No one's been so close to her in over a year.

"Mira…" Now the anger in Caspian's voice has been replaced by hurt, but he doesn't try to approach her again. He looks like there's something else he wants to say, but at the last moment he changes his mind.

"Where have you been?" he asks her, softly this time.

Lion, she missed him.

"Here," she answers, still attempting to calm herself down enough that she can stop pulling out weapons whenever he moves wrong.

"When did you…how…what happened?" he finally says. It makes her heart twist to see how he tries to be gentle with her, even though she can see the flash of anger still in his eyes. She knew he might be angry with her for leaving so suddenly, but this is more than she expected.

"I went home for a little while," she says. "And then I came back. Didn't Suncloud fill you in?"

This is nothing near the explanation he wants, she knows, but how is she supposed to tell him everything that's happened? She had a hard enough time opening up to him in bits when they were first forging their friendship - how can she do it again, when there is so much more weighing her down?

"Mira, I thought you were…" Caspian swallows hard, and she can't tell if he's unsure of his words or if he's just having that hard of a time keeping himself under control.

"I had every reason to think you were dead," he finishes, eyes flashing with that buried ire once again.

She doesn't know what to say to that, even when she recalls that she never managed to tell him that she'd already died in her world before she left. A part of her thought Aslan might tell him, but it sounds like he didn't. He had said no one is told any story but their own, after all. Suncloud must've filled him in the he arrived, but perhaps a year with no contact and nothing left behind but another letter was worse than she thought.

"I'm sorry," is all Mira can think to say, and she knows without even meeting Caspian's gaze that it's not enough. He deserves more of an explanation, she knows he does, but she can't. She's grown used to her solitude, and she doesn't know how to handle other people anymore, not unless frightening them away counts.

"What brings you here, anyway?" she blurts out. Better to discuss that than all the other things she knows she can't talk about.

"I was on my way to Archenland, and when I heard about the so-called spirit haunting Stormness Head that looked so like you…" Caspian trails off and never stops looking at her. His gaze is starting to make her self-conscious, even though she closed herself off to those sorts of feelings long ago. Some rat must have seen something, and the report must have made its way back to him.

"You shouldn't have come here, Caspian," she answers with ice in her voice. "I frighten everyone away for a reason."

"What is it?" he shouts, his control finally snapping. "What is your reason, Mira? Why have you hidden out here for well over a year? Why did you leave before I could even see if you were alive?"

Caspian strides toward her with thundering steps and hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. It's pure instinct that has Mira trying to scamper out of reach, but this time he's expecting it and she can't quite dance away fast enough. His hands close around her upper arms in a grip close to bruising and he shakes her, hard enough that her teeth rattle.

"Why, Mira?!" he yells again. His anger is not so well buried now.

"Caspian," she murmurs, her voice suddenly small and not so harsh as before. "Let me go."

Either he doesn't hear her, or he's blatantly ignoring her. Regardless, Mira struggles to free herself. She's dropped that knife, and now she'll have to gather her things, abandon her breakfast, and hope he doesn't follow her back to her home. She'd like very much to think he wouldn't do that, but she's not sure of him right now. She hasn't seen this side of Caspian before.

"You're frightening me," she tries again, still missing that stony edge to her voice that usually works so well.

This resonates – Caspian eases his grip quickly and an apology shines in his eyes next to the residual anger. As soon as she can, Mira slips out of his reach and stands with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at him without being sure if she's still afraid or if she's simply doing what she does best – pushing away.

"You should go," she says. The words weigh on her heart, and she doesn't know why. But he has to go, because she still has a lot of healing to do and she can't do that if she's not alone and free to figure it out at her own pace. She's not ready for human company yet.

Caspian doesn't acknowledge this. It's as if all the fight and fury went out of him the moment she told him he was frightening her. He stands there looking a little lost and a lot sad, and before she left Narnia she'd have done anything she could think of to set him at ease. But now…now she knows this could work in her favor, that if she words everything right she can secure her solitude for years more. Guiltily, she finds that she's considering exactly that.

She chooses to send him away, and she hates it as soon as she decides it without really knowing why.

"Just go, Caspian," Mira whispers. "I like being alone."

He turns as if he's stuck in molasses. Mira despises what she's doing more and more by the second, but she can't stop herself, can't pull back from this in time.

"Those stories you heard were true. I'm only a spirit," she tells him softly, waiting for him to walk away.

Caspian shakes his head like he's trying to shake away her words even as they fall on his ears.

"I'm nothing more than a ghost."

With those words, Miranda starts to glide back into the trees, and the months of practice ensure that she slips away soundlessly. If Caspian hadn't shaken her with his own two hands, she thinks he'd have no trouble believing her words. He stands with his back to her now, his hands running through his hair. He's trying to make sense of this, but by the time he does she'll be gone from sight. Things will go back to what they were, and perhaps in time he'll think she really was a ghost.

She doesn't want that, not really, but what choice does she have? After all that's happened, she knows her heart is nothing near ready for even simple friendship. She needs this time of solitude to work it all out, to accept it. And then perhaps she'll move to some village somewhere, when she's ready to stop chasing everyone away from her, but perhaps that day won't come. In her mind either one is just fine, but Mira knows that for Caspian, perhaps not.

By the time he spins around, she's melted away from his sight. Caspian spins round a few times, and a few times again, but now she's taken off that white cloak and her brown clothes blend into the trees just so very well. Something sours in her stomach as Mira watches him search for her, as she sees the doubt start to take hold of him. His brow furrows ever deeper as he darts from tree to tree, searching for her. After the first few trees, he starts sprinting, as if he's frantic to prove to himself he didn't imagine the whole thing.

And though her skin prickles painfully at what she's putting him through, Mira slips farther and farther away, silent as the specter she's pretending to be. It's the work of mere minutes to get far enough away that she can start running. And run she does, faster and faster with no mind for the pine needles scratching her face. Lion, she doesn't want to run from him. But her legs won't stop.

Her chest squeezes in some strange mixture of relief and despair once her cabin comes into sight. Mountain laurels have been growing ever thicker around it, hiding it from all but the most careful of eyes. Mira stumbles through the path she's worn in the bushes, her heart somehow in her throat and yet in her toes. He should've have come, she wasn't ready...but how could she have left him there like that? Yet she knows it was for the best, so why are her insides still knotting up at the echo of his voice long behind her, calling for the specter he will soon believe she was?

Mira shakes her head until her hair whips across her face and curls up on her cabin floor. The packed dirt, usually comforting simply because it's hers, suddenly feels too hard beneath her legs. If she listens hard enough, she can still hear Caspian crying out her name. She was cruel to leave him so.

For a moment, she wonders to go back, at least to make the screaming of her name stop. But no, it would be even worse to reappear only to leave once again. What better parting words can she offer him? She made her goodbyes in her letter, and to say it again, now, seems a mockery, even more cruel than her current method. It seems like a taunt.

So Mira stays there, legs against her chest and arms wrapped as far as they'll go around her knees. Part of her begins to wish she'd never come back, that she she'd just stayed in her world where she clearly belongs. She didn't hurt anyone there, except the one person who deserved it. And besides, she'd be closer to Leila there, though the funeral would've been a rough ordeal. Yes, staying there would have been for the best.

No sooner have her lips formed around the words, a distant roar echoes in her mind. Mira trembles at the sound and hugs her legs tighter, but she understands. She's here because she asked to be, because Aslan saw fit to save her yet again by bringing her here.

Mira wishes she could be grateful, but she can't right now. She can't.

* * *

Eventually Caspian stops calling for her. He might even stop searching, might finally believe that it was the work of worry and imagination and wishful thinking. Mira doesn't go outside to check, but she feels safe enough to get up from the floor. Her stomach rumbles as soon as she's upright, and she jumps from the sound. Idly, Mira glances around her home and finds some of the vegetable stew from last night. She finds mushed berries in her pocket, warm and forgotten like her bow and arrow.

Oh.

Caspian will know she's no ghost once he finds that bow. He'll know she must be close by. Perhaps that's why he's stopped calling for her. Oh Lion, is he searching already? Are the laurel high enough, wide enough to keep her hidden?

Mira shivers and wraps her arms around her middle. The thought of being found again both terrifies and relieves her, a strange mix that leaves her pacing lightheaded and indecisive. Should she stay here and wait to see if she's as hidden as she thinks? Should she leave, ensure she's never found again? Should she seek him out and find better words to say? Does she even have better words?

She ends up pacing from end to end of her little home, more undecided with every step. What's the use in hiding and running if he knows she's real? What's the use in staying away when he was so worried and hurt? Mira was so sure this little self-imposed exile was the answer to everything, but seeing Caspian in pain before her shakes that notion and introduces pangs of guilt she hasn't felt in months. She's had a year. Isn't that enough? Is it?

Mira's stomach twists uncomfortably, and she's not sure if it's hunger or the whole situation making her sick to her stomach. Caspian may not be yelling for her anymore, but his cries echo in her mind as if he still was. The memory makes her want to run out the door, but she can't say whether she wants to run to a new exile or into his arms to apologize for everything. Mira's quite sure she shouldn't be considering running back to him at all, but...she's missed him. Oh, but she can't afford to, can she?

Can she? Can he?

By nightfall, Mira still doesn't know, and her legs ache from pacing.

* * *

Nightfall brings a knock to her door. Mira lurches away from the door, her stomach swirling with sourness again. Has he been looking all this time? How could he see this place? Why couldn't the mountain laurel keep her hidden? She hates those plants right now.

Another knock, this time harder than the last. The door rattles on its hinges, and Mira realizes she never did fix them. They needed some sort of repair, but she couldn't figure out just what. She has no skill for making new hinges, for Lion's sake.

A third knock. Mira wants to shrink away, but her feet carry her to the door. Almost against her will but not quite, Mira's eye is peering through that little crack, moisture gathering at the corners when she forgets to blink. What she sees gives her the smallest of comforts, though her heart still pounds in her throat. It's not Caspian. Caspian doesn't have the body of a horse.

Suncloud.

Mira finds that her fingers wrap around the handle and pull the door open before she's actually made up her mind what to do. Her dearest Narnian friend stares back at her, much like Caspian first looked at her in the woods earlier today. Like she's a ghost.

For a long while, neither of them says anything. Mira's mouth is far too dry in any case, and Suncloud looks just as lost as she feels. But in the end, he's the one to break the silence.

"A letter again, Mira?"

She swallows, wrapping her arms around her middle as if she can hide from what she did. She feels so small now, and she's only just been learning how to feel like a Someone again.

"You would've stopped me," Mira whispers. "I needed this."

Suncloud looks away, staring at the ground as if he'd much rather stare at half-dead leaves than her. Mira doesn't blame him, but it still stings. The centaur raises his eyes again after a long while of silence and neither of them knowing what to do.

"How are you?"

Mira blinks up at him, scrunching her eyebrows. The question takes a moment, several, to sink in. But she doesn't know the answer. Perhaps she did earlier this morning, or even last night. Now, she doesn't know again and this is exactly why she left. To try to avoid feeling small and sorry and lost all the time.

"I've been better," she answers at last, and now it's her turn to look away. "I needed this," she says again. Maybe if she says it enough, he'll believe her and she can be left alone again. Right now, Mira doesn't want to be around anyone for a good long while. Another year, two at least.

Suncloud shifts on his hooves, and that lost look comes back to him. Mira understands that look, because it's exactly how she feels right now. She hates knowing she caused this look on him. At least while she's been alone, far away from Suncloud and…and Caspian, she's been able to forget what she's put them through, pretend that it didn't really matter because they couldn't care that much.

Mira is sure he'll say something else to make her feel small, not intentionally but it'll happen just the same. She's bracing for it, that inevitable knife he's going to slip through her ribs with all the ease of obliviousness. So when the knife doesn't come, she's left blinking like a fool again, addlepated and unsure.

"Good," Suncloud says, though there's pain lingering in his voice. "That's good."

Mira has no answer to that. She's still bracing for something, for words that will remind her of how deeply she's driven a knife between them. She waits, with a resignation akin to patience. Minutes that could be years pass, and nothing more comes. Frowning, Mira loosens her arms just a little.

"Spend an hour with us."

Ah, there. Mira's mouth goes dry again and she wants to hide away more than ever. To his credit, Suncloud looks shocked by the request, almost looking as though he wants to take it back.

Then he seems to make up his mind, straightening his back and loosening the furrow of his brow. "He just wants to see that you're well. For himself."

Mira tries to swallow, but her throat feels like sandpaper. Her arms tremble just the slightest bit, going back to their death grip around her torso. She can't see him, doesn't want to see him. How can they ask this of her?

"Didn't he see enough in the forest?" Mira wants to take back the quiet hostility in her voice, wants to stop staring at Suncloud as if she's calculating his strength against hers – as if he's suddenly become an enemy. So why does he still feel like one?

Suncloud lets out a dry chuckle, a dark sort of amusement that isn't really amusement at all. "So that was real. He was unsure at first."

Bitter guilt returns, but Mira is painfully aware that the vulnerability does not show on her face. Her body remains set in stone, stiff and unwelcoming. But inside, her mind trembles, her insides feel sick and sloshed, and there's a horrid taste in her mouth. She wants very much to tell the centaur before her to go away, go away and never return. Then she wants to leave at once, covering her tracks so well that no one will ever be able to find her again. She thinks of Calormen for a moment, wondering how well she could survive in the harsh deserts of the south, lost to the sand dunes behind the borders of a country more often hostile to Narnia than not.

Yet, she can't.

Mira looks at Suncloud, stares into his eyes as if she's staring right through them to see all his intentions and wishes laid bare. In some strange sense, she feels as if that's precisely what she's doing. She sees fear, betrayal, hurt. Longing. Hope. It's the last that breaks her, chases away her visions of shifting sand and isolation in Calormen with only sand lizards and cobras for company.

"All right," Mira finds herself whispering. "One hour. No more."

* * *

**Okay, is anyone else kind of excited for her next run-in with Caspian? Or is it just me, half-mad with caffeine and pizza? **

**If you've got a sec to leave your thoughts, I always love hearing from you :)**


	24. Arc 2: The Truth

**This is the second to last chapter, ****people! Whew, it's been a long ride, but I so enjoyed writing this and hearing y'alls feedback...This is definitely one of my favorites. **

**And of course, many thanks to luv and joycelyn. o. ting for leaving reviews last chapter! Thanks to anyone who's reading this, honestly. The response to this has been much better than I imagined, thank you all.**

* * *

**Chapter 23**

Suncloud walks as slowly as she does. Mira begins brusquely, striding out of her home and pushing through the laurels as if she's angry at the entire world. But once her house is out of sight, once it's only her and Suncloud in the forest and the reality of what she's agreed to sinks in, Mira plods along ever slower, all but dragging her feet in the leaves and pine needles. Suncloud always keeps pace with her, always stays glued to her side as if he's terried she'd going to bolt into the trees and disappear into thin air.

Honestly, he probably is.

Perhaps she should say something. Make small talk, ask how he's been, ask how Caspian's been, how Narnia's been. Perhaps she should even ask about Caspian's voyage east, because she didn't quite get all the details before. But everytime she goes to open her mouth her tongue dries and her throat feels more like the Calormen desert than anything else. She can't seem to say anything.

Suncloud, at least, seems to be as much at a loss for words as she is. Several times, Mira notices him swallowing hard and parting his lips, but every time he snaps his mouth closed again and looks away.

Mira doesn't even know where they're going, and she's sure she should be much more afraid than she is. Even after so much time away, she still trusts Suncloud – at least enough to follow him. Not enough to share the broken pieces of herself with him, but enough that she doesn't question where he's taking her or ask where, exactly, they're going. They're going to Caspian, and that's all she needs to know.

How on earth is she going to face him again?

The forest was different. It was unexpected, unplanned, and she could slip away with ease. Suncloud himself said Caspian hadn't been sure if he'd only imagined her there, even with such solid proof as her bow and knife on the forest floor. She's gotten almost too good at keeping people away.

"Where will you go?" Suncloud suddenly pipes up, after the fifth or so indecisive swallow. "After you've said your hellos. I know you won't stay here."

Of course he knows. Mira can't look him in the eye for the guilt and shame.

"I don't know," she says, the first truly honest thing she's told him in a long while. "I was thinking Calormen, but deserts are very different from mountains."

"And so they are." Suncloud doesn't press her further, and Mira gets the strangest sense he's not holding any questions back. It's a first, and a welcome one. Right now, she could almost believe he doesn't have any interest in knowing what happened since he saw her last, since she left Narnia. Only her past experience challenges that notion.

Perhaps it's different now. It has been a year, a little more even. Perhaps he doesn't care any more, perhaps he won't ask.

But Caspian will. He just did, mere hours ago.

Mira's steps slow again. More than a year she's avoided the prying, and now she's willingly walking right into it. She's a fool.

"Would you like to ride on my back?"

Suncloud's offer is as sudden as his last vocalization, and Mira jumps a little.

"What?" she says stupidly.

Suncloud looks down at her, all brown-eyed warmth with no strings attached. "So you don't have to walk. You look tired."

She is, though she isn't sure why. Mira wouldn't normally agree, isn't quite inclined to, but she does realize what an honor it is to ride a centaur, and so it seems unspeakably rude to decline. Hence, she accepts, and Suncloud swings her up onto his back as if she weighs nothing at all.

Well, she has been losing weight, but she's never been an especially small girl. All that practice must have really done her good.

"Thank you," she murmurs, holding onto his waist for balance. She hasn't been on a horse much at all, especially not recently, and it's a bit interesting trying to figure out how to keep from slipping. Naturally, Suncloud isn't wearing a saddle, and she has only her legs and the warm, solid torso in front of her to keep herself steady.

Suncloud walks a bit faster once she's settled. Actually, he walks a lot faster, almost breaking into a trot. Mira hangs on tighter, but she doesn't ask him to slow down. As little as she's looking forward to this, technically the sooner she gets there the sooner this can all be over and she can go off on her own again.

Why doesn't the thought bring that same excitement, the same relief it should? It should make her happy, make her feel safe, but it only makes her heart sink a little more in her chest each time she imagines it. Has seeing Caspian and Suncloud again changed everything so much in just one day?

Then Mira has no more time to wallow in her thoughts, because there's a fire ahead and a familiar silhouette standing in front of it.

Caspian.

Her heart shouldn't be racing so at the thought of seeing him again. She shouldn't even care that much. But she does.

Suncloud bursts into a trot, jostling Mira enough that she grips his human middle for balance. She starts to slide, but then they're there and Caspian is only a few paces away, the warmth of the fire spreading out in front of him as if to comfort her. Mira's heart pounds even faster.

Suncloud helps her down, keeps her from tumbling to the ground in an unbalanced heap once her feet are on solid land again. He keeps hold of her hand once she's steady, squeezing it as if he knows how much she wants to run. As if he knows how afraid she is that she wants to stay. Mira grips his hand in return, suddenly terrified to let go.

"Hello, Caspian," she whispers. He just stands there silently, staring at her like he's trying to work out if she's real or not. It makes her heart twist.

"Mira," he finally answers, and takes a single step toward her.

She tightens her grip on Suncloud's hand until her fingertips are numb, but she doesn't step away like she wants to. There's nothing she can think to say, so she ends up staring at him rather like a deer before the hunter, glancing just to the side of him so she can look at the crackling fire and not his eyes as he steadily comes closer, step after step.

Suncloud shifts beside her, a simple transfer of weight that jerks her awareness away from Caspian for precious moments. When she looks back, he's much closer than before and for a moment it's as if she never left. But the truth of the situation comes crashing back when Caspian speaks again.

"You are no ghost."

No, she's not, but she can't speak to say so. She can only hang on to Suncloud's hand like a lifeline, because if she lets go she knows she's going to fall, though she's not sure which kind of falling she's talking about.

Then Caspian does something strange, the last thing she would have expected. He extends his arm and reaches for her, palm up, fingers curled just a little. His hand trembles, only slightly, but easy enough to see with the firelight illuminating him from behind. Mira stares at him, suddenly sure they must be back at the castle days after he's been crowned, alone in the garden playing a child's game of Truth or Dare. "Take my hand," his eyes seem to say, echoing his dare from so long ago.

Her own hand shaking, Mira does.

Now both of her hands are being held, warm fingers against her own. It's safe, it's familiar, it's something beyond relief and quieter than happiness. Peace. It's peace.

The three of them stand there for a thousand eternities, the fire crackling away behind Caspian and keeping the night's chill at bay. Mira leans against Suncloud's arm, suddenly exhausted, and doesn't shy away from Caspian's gaze. His fingers tighten around hers almost imperceptibly.

In the end, Suncloud breaks the silence.

"I'll stand watch."

Mira doesn't loosen her hand, doesn't want to see him go. 'There's no need for a watch,' she wants to say. 'Don't go.' But the words never make it out of her throat and far too soon Suncloud's stepping away and releasing her hand. His movement brings a chill, his warmth replaced by the cold night air of an approaching winter. He looks back at her only once, after nodding to Caspian. Some sort of understanding passes between them, and Mira sways on her feet. Suncloud disappears into the night, leaving her lost and suddenly afraid again, Caspian's hand still cocooning hers.

Gently, he tugs. Mira stumbles forward a few steps, now suddenly close enough to feel him breathing before her. He's warm, and he feels safe too. It doesn't feel complicated or wrong right now.

Before she quite realizes it, Mira's leaning against Caspian's chest, listening to his heart beat as his arms close around her. She should by shying away, frightened of the human contact with a man. But she's not – she's pressing in closer, her head tucked under his chin, greedy for the safety of his embrace.

"I've missed you," he whispers, breath brushing over her hair. She trembles against him, afraid of the words that escape in reply.

"I missed you too," she murmurs. She didn't want to, didn't want to admit it, but she did. So much so that somehow she's not afraid to feel his body against hers anymore, that it's a source of comfort rather than fear. Here, she feels even safer than she's felt in her solitude for a year.

"I was angry," Caspian says, breaking the silence again. "I didn't understand why you left again."

Mira swallows hard, and her heart speeds up in time with his. Shivering, she keeps herself from pressing closer again this time.

She answers with a voice that shakes, dreading what else he'll divulge. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry."

From there, she's sure he'll ask about why she left, about what was so terrible that she had to go away again. He has every reason to, and now she's with him. He could, technically, ask her anything in the world he likes.

So when he doesn't, Mira doesn't know what to do. His arms tighten, drawing her closer, and now it's him who's trembling. He presses a kiss to her hairline, but his lips stay there long after they need to.

"Aren't you going ask?" Mira finally breaks, anxious to know just how far her luck goes. His anger seems to have dissipated, for now – she has to know if the curiosity has too.

Miracle of all miracles, Caspian shakes his head, lips brushing over her forehead. He presses another kiss to her hair.

"I thought I was," he admits. "I wanted nothing more for much of the time you were away."

"But not now?" Mira's hand quivers, but she lets it rest against his collarbone just the same. His pulse roars against her fingertips.

Caspian exhales, his cheek coming to rest on the top of her head. "You're here," he says. "That's enough."

Mira believes him.

After a little while, she grows tired of standing, even though it's really quite comfortable. She wants to be closer to the fire, wants to see Caspian's face a little better because it really has been a long time and she wasn't focused on anything but getting away this morning. Almost as soon as she's wished to scoot closer, maybe sit down, Caspian loosens his hold and steps back. It's a strange moment, but Mira can't decipher why.

At least, until his mouth descends and presses against hers. And then it's gone and she's left blinking up at him, sure she must have imagined it. Is this how he felt in the forest?

She should say something. What is there to say? Mira isn't even sure it happened, that thing that felt like a kiss. But Caspian is still holding onto her waist and looking down at her as if he's afraid she'll push him away.

"I'm a little cold," she hears herself saying, the words distant and foggy as if someone else is saying them.

Wordlessly, never letting his arm slip from her waist, Caspian leads her closer to the fire and guides her to a blanket spread on the ground. She sits cross-legged, the chill from the ground seeping through to her legs. She shivers and scoots closer to the fire, hands outstretched for warmth. Caspian sits down beside her, all warmth and solid muscle, but she can't look at him. She's terrified she imagined a kiss. She's afraid that she didn't.

"Will you leave again?"

Caspian's question eases her, strangely. It's a return to the normal, the normal before she thought he might've kissed her and he might've not. Did he? Does she wish he had?

"I should," Mira whispers, turning her face toward the dancing flames and savoring the heat. Caspian's hand slides from her waist to her back, rubbing up and down her spine in a soothing line. His thumb brushes half circles against her, and she finds herself enjoying those moments where his hands wanders above the line of her dress and brushes her skin. She shouldn't, just like she should find a new place to call home after tonight.

"I don't know if I can." Mira's confession takes even her by surprise. Her lips press back together and curl in towards her teeth as if to stop any more too-honest words from slipping out.

Caspian pulls her close again, and she lets him. It's a relief to let her head come to rest on his shoulder, tucked in close as if it's always fitted there.

"Then don't."

It's not that simple, and she so wants to remind him it isn't, but here by a fire in the mountains where it's only the two of them on a blanket, it feels like it is. Was this the sort of safety, peace, she's been craving? How strange, that she should find it here by a fire with a man she thought she might never see again. Instantly, she's immeasurably grateful to Suncloud.

But she doesn't answer Caspian. She can't give him false hope. She isn't ready to promise anything, not after only one day. And besides, it must be getting close to that hour limit. She should be getting home, packing just in case she changes her mind. She should get up and say goodbye to Caspian and Suncloud. She should be preparing to leave, and preparing them for it too so if by some strange chance she doesn't it'll be a pleasant surprise. Better that than let them think she intends to stay when she may well change her mind and leave for Calormen, or perhaps Mount Pyre, by dawn.

Yet, Mira just sits by the fire with her head resting on Caspian's shoulder, saying none of the things she should and doing anything but what she's supposed to.

She stays for much longer than hour. The fire burns hotter, higher, and then it needs more wood. Caspian makes no move to get more, and Mira can't convince herself why she should get up either. She knows that the spell will end the moment she stands up. Perhaps, if she just sits here with the fire while it dies out, she can stay under this strange trance where she forgets enough of her heartache that she can pretend to be happy for these precious hours before dawn.

The sky begins to lighten just as the fire starts to wink out. Mira, strangely, wants to lie down and sleep, though normally she has to wait until full sunrise to even consider it. Even after more than a year, she can't sleep well at night. It's too easy to think something – someone, really – is lurking just beyond the shadows. But tonight, that doesn't seem to matter.

"Sleep, Mira," Caspian whispers. "I know you're tired."

It goes against everything she's been doing, but Mira stuffs all her old habits and lifts her head. She doesn't want to move away and sacrifice the combined warmth of the fire and Caspian. So she doesn't.

Mira just curls up into a tight little ball with her back pressed against Caspian's leg. He stills, just as he did up on the tower when she first hugged him. Now, as then, he's afraid of scaring her off. But once she settles into a position she likes, his hand comes back down, resting on her ribs and calming the rapid beating of her heart. Her mind may be finding the idea of sleep before dawn less repulsive, but her body isn't reacting quite so favorably. Yet, with Caspian's touch and his solid warmth beside her, it isn't so bad. She still feels safe.

And she sleeps, until long after dawn.

Caspian is still beside her, exactly as before, when she wakes. Mira doesn't want to get up just yet. Suncloud must've gotten more wood for the fire – it's blazing up again, keeping the morning chill away from her. And Caspian's hand is still laying on her side.

She feels protected, and nothing she can remember has ever felt so good. Leaving seems foolish right now. How can she give this up? It was never this simple when she was by herself.

Eventually, Mira does have to move. Her stomach is starting to get that pinched feeling, and she's getting pangs in her side that mean she didn't eat enough yesterday. Well, she did forget her meals.

She gets up slowly, regretfully. The tranquility of the night is starting to wear off already, and she's sure that once she leaves this camp, she'll convince herself to never return. She wants to savor these last minutes before she remembers all the reasons why she didn't want to come and why she's been chasing anyone and everyone away this past year.

Caspian looks up at her, his arm falling back to his side. He has that guarded look, the same one she feels so often in her own eyes. He's waiting for the inevitable. He knows she means to leave, he must.

"I should get breakfast," Mira says, and it tastes like a lie in her mouth.

Caspian doesn't ask if she's coming back, but she sees the question in how he stares at her – unblinking, unmoving, as if he can keep her here if only he stays still enough. She's sure he's going to stay silent, but again he does the thing she isn't expecting.

"Shall I wait for you?"

That is, in effect, still asking that loaded question she doesn't know how to answer. It'll feel like a lie no matter what she says. Perhaps the most honest answer isn't an answer at all.

"I don't know." Mira stares into the fire so she won't have to see Caspian's reaction. He's surprised her all night, but now it's morning and there isn't the same spell over them anymore. Last night was last night, and Mira isn't about to go around expecting the same thing as all that.

She leaves then, heading off into the deeper parts of the forest toward her home. Well, what was her home; she doesn't know if it still is. She's beginning to suspect it stopped being that as soon as she agreed to go with Suncloud.

She does remember to say goodbye to her centaur friend as she goes. He looks tired, as if he didn't get any sleep last night. Mira tells him to get some rest, and when he asks if he'll see her again she can only offer a sad smile and tell him the same thing she told Caspian. It's not fair, but it's better than a lie.

It's a lonely walk into the forest just the same.

Mira gathers her breakfast like it's any other morning. She's determined to act as if it is, on the chance that the normality will bring clarity. This place, these woods of pine and laurel – it's become her home. Staying should be easy. The familiarity of the nuts hidden among fallen pine needles is soothing, the ease of stripping away pine bark a cocoon of safety. She's always been safe here, no matter if there were few curious souls every now and then.

Whatever she chooses, she'll have to leave.

If she agrees to rebuild something with Caspian – not that she knows what exactly that something will be – she'll have to go back to Cair Paravel. Perhaps not immediately, but it will become an inevitability. She'll have to rejoin humanity, have to adjust to a life where there are people all the time, where there are expectations of her.

And if she doesn't, if she decides she has to continue her exile, she certainly can't stay here. She'll have to move on, find a new remote place to call home. Staying in the Southern Mountains would be a risk – she'd be too close to this current home. If she leaves again, it will have to be someplace far, far away. Calormen, perhaps, or she could cross the entire country and see if Ettinsmoor holds anything for her. The Giants did surrender unconditionally to Narnia, after all. It might be more hospitable than Calormen.

Mira tucks her breakfast of black walnuts and pine bark into her pocket, shivering. She should have brought that cloak.

Normally, Mira would go back to her home and eat there before going back out to practice shooting. She should go back, to maintain the façade she's playing for the morning. But instead she finds herself gripping the trunk of a nearby pine and starting to shimmy up.

She finds a nice perch on a branch almost as thick as her waist, where she has a wonderful view of the forest. If she looks hard enough, she can see the smoke curling through the trees a little ways off. Caspian's camp. Her stomach tightens at the reminder and she turns to her walnuts and bark.

"What would you do, Leila?" Mira whispers into the morning.

* * *

_"You can't get a broken keyboard!" Miranda laughs, trying to tug Leila away from her new favorite thrift find._

_But Leila is a stubborn, stubborn thing, and she digs in her heels. "Don't you get it? That's exactly why I've _got_ to get it! No one else is gonna want it. How will it feel, sitting here by itself and doing nothing but collecting dust?"_

_Miranda sighs and yanks on Leila's arm again. "It'll still collect dust if you get it. No difference."_

_"Every difference," Leila fires back with a furiously determined gleam in her eyes. "It's to be the subject of my next masterpiece. It'll be a star!"_

_Mira laughs and shakes her head, staring down at the child's instrument. The electric blue paint is chipped all over, the tacky off-white plastic showing through, and only half the keys aren't permanently stuck in the down position. "And after that? It'll still collect dust, Leila."_

_"But it will be loved." Leila breaks free and runs gentle, reverent fingers over the abused toy. She taps the D key, then the E. The notes are fragile, forlorn excuses for sound that grate on the ears, but Leila smiles radiantly. "Come on, help me with this."_

_Not twenty minutes later, Miranda is driving to Leila's house with a broken keyboard stuffed in her backseat, and Leila's babbling about what lighting would be best – she prefers a soft yellow light bulb over a harsh white LED coil – and asking Miranda what medium to use._

_"Painting it seems too generic. I'm thinking charcoal, maybe a pencil sketch. What do you think?"_

_Miranda snorts. "Don't you want to bring out that chipped paint? Maybe use some colored pencils?"_

_Leila flaps a hand dismissively. "The color of the paint isn't important, I just want the shadows around it. I want it to be a sad, lost keyboard, but I want it to be loved too. Know what I mean?"_

_Miranda most certainly does not, but she smiles and says she does anyway. Leila spends a solid month getting her charcoal portrayal of the keyboard just right, and Miranda comes after school everyday to watch the art take shape._

_In the end, Leila's proven undoubtedly correct; the charcoal sketch of the keyboard is perfect. Leila's done the shadows dark around the shape of it and focused the light on the keys themselves. But in her drawing, the keys look well-loved instead of overused, nostalgic instead of pathetic. When Miranda asks how she did it, Leila answers the same way she always does after making a piece of junk into art._

_"It was broken," she answers with a shrug. "That's what made it perfect. I just put it on a piece of paper."_

* * *

The memory is chased by a gust of sudden wind that carries a lion's roar with it.

"Aslan." Mira finishes her breakfast and scampers down the tree. She hasn't seen or heard from Him in all the time she's been here at Stormness Head, and she has a feeling he might be able to give her some guidance. She doesn't want to be selfish, and all of her options feel that way.

She chases the distant roar through the trees, legs pumping and chest heaving as she picks up speed. It never grows any louder; it stays constant on the breeze, whispering to her.

"Aslan, please," Mira calls. "I think I need you."

She bursts through a thick band of pines, and there stands a great golden lion before her in the clearing, tall as an elephant among the wildflowers.

Mira runs to him and collapses at his feet, swallowing back tears she doesn't want him to see. She doesn't want to be ungrateful, and she's sure Aslan and everyone else has had their fill of seeing her cry.

"Why didn't you come before?" she chokes, pressing her forehead to his front right leg. His fur tickles her nose and smells of the sunshine and of hope.

"You never wanted me until now, dear one. You only needed to ask."

His wild breath fans over her, ruffling her hair, and Mira feels a bit better. Her tears dry and she finds strength enough to gaze up at him in all his glory, mane almost glittering in the early morning sun.

"I know you must have let me come back for a reason," she says. "What was it?"

Aslan's rumble is tinged with disappointment when he answers. "There are those who care for you here," he explains. "You were as much help to them as they were to you."

"And now?" Mira waits at his feet, staring down at paws as wide and long as her face. Surely things are different now, with a year of absence and secrets.

"Now it can be so again. Stop fearing them, dear one. You are afraid of ghosts."

Mira sighs, her breath trembling as it leaves her body. "So it's best for me to go back?"

Aslan's tongue sweeps across her forehead. Mira calms, the shivers gone. Returning to the Cair doesn't sound quite so terrible, not now with Aslan giving her strength. But there's still one thing holding her back, one thing that she can't understand no matter how much she tries.

"You knew what would happen when I went back for Leila," Mira whispers. "Why did you let me?"

Aslan growls, and her heart stutters with nerves at the rumbling warning. "Do you still not trust me?"

Mira stays silent, because she still doesn't understand but she doesn't want to anger him further.

"I told you you would suffer, but it was not in vain."

Mira wants to trust him so much, but her best friend is still dead and it's all her fault and now even Aslan can't change that.

"Dear one, you did not fail. Leila lives because of you."

Her heart stops. Aslan breathes on her again, but it beats erratically and Mira's body shakes. That can't be right, she heard…

"What?" Mira leans back and searches Aslan's fierce amber eyes. "H-how?" she stutters.

"Close your eyes."

Mira obeys. Thick, soft fur brushes her face, and she sees the truth.

She sees herself, tearing through the trees with Bates mere steps behind. She sees the gun that's haunted her for many months lying in the leaves, the tip still smoking. And only a few paces away lies her best friend, broken and bleeding. And breathing. Her chest is rising and falling shallowly, but she's_ breathing_.

Mira hears the struggle between herself and Bates, sees herself pinned to the ground a ways off with his hands around her throat. And Leila's hand is fluttering to her chest, her mouth open as she sucks more air into her lungs.

Leila is dragging herself away with her right elbow by the time Mira has Bates bleeding underneath her. When Mira runs off and vanishes into the ground, Leila is almost to the barn where Mira found her.

Bates doesn't get up for a while, but he finds only a bloodstain where Leila was. His curses are perhaps the best thing Mira has heard in her life.

The view spins, and Leila is in a hospital bed with an IV. Her eyes are open. She's talking weakly with two police officers, who take notes on small handheld spiral notebooks.

She sees Bates again, and he's looking worse than ever – thin and pale and missing four teeth – in an orange jumpsuit.

Leila appears, now back home in her room that's filled to the brim with all the broken, perfect things she's collected over the years. There are a few new pieces, and Mira likes the blood-red pitcher with white daisies painted around the lip the best. It sits in front of its half-finished oil painting on a creaky easel.

The visions fade back into a meadow surrounded by pines and scattered with four-petaled purple wildflowers, where a lion nuzzles away the salty wetness on her cheeks.

"You see you did not fail," Aslan says. "I did not abandon you."

"Thank you." Mira's voice is strangely steady though the world is still tilting with the shock. Over a year she's mourned her friend, and she was alive the whole time. "I shouldn't have blocked you out."

Aslan doesn't scold her like she thinks he will. No, he only nudges her back with a giant paw and supports her while she gets her feet underneath her.

"Go to him," the lion says.

She obeys.

* * *

**luv - Caspian did not bring the star back, no. I didn't want to throw too much into the mix...As for Mira, she's spent a long time trying to get to a place where she can try to be happy, and in this next chapter I think you'll be glad to see she does make some good strides.**

**Remember to leave a review if you have a sec! :)**


	25. Arc 2: Her Own Eden

**Here we go, last chapter. It's a bit shorter than usual, but I guess last chapters tend to do that. Thanks to all of you who've been reading, it's been lovely having you along for the ride. And of course, special thanks to all my reviewers! You guys are the best. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

Caspian is waiting when Mira returns. He's staring off to the west, toward her old home, so he doesn't see her approach. Suncloud greets her, but he's far enough away that Caspian doesn't hear their quiet exchange.

"I'm coming home," is all Mira has to say, and then Suncloud is sweeping her into a tight, tight hug and murmuring how glad he is into her shoulder.

When he lets go, Mira smiles and he shoos her toward Caspian. Well, actually he calls him "her king," and for the first time Mira has no urge to correct him.

Caspian whips around at the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder. Hope and apprehension shine side by side in his gaze, and he hesitates in reaching for her.

"I saved her," Mira whispers to him, taking both of his hands in hers. "I want to come back with you."

A smile dawns on Caspian's usually serious face. It's boyish and when it reaches his eyes Mira could swear she's never been happier to see someone smile. The tired, worried lines in his forehead and around his eyes finally vanish, replaced by a beaming smile that she can't resist returning.

This time, when he leans down and captures her mouth, Mira knows it's not her imagination and she knows that she's wanted this for much longer than she's ever wanted to admit.

One kiss isn't enough, for her as well as him. It's actually her who leans in the second time, eager for another taste of happiness and hope.

"Let's go home," Caspian murmurs against her lips after that second kiss. "I've missed you too much."

"I know." Mira's guilt peeks back out, but she shoves it away. It's over now. It's been over for a long time.

The three of them leave for Cair Paravel within the hour, and for the first time since finding herself in the hospital, Mira laughs and jokes with them freely.

* * *

Night becomes her favorite part of the day. The hours she so dreaded she now cherishes, for it's when the sun has set that she's closest to Suncloud and Caspian. The day is for merriment, for long locked-away lightness and joy. But the night is when they trade stories of the past few years, catching up on all the things they missed.

Suncloud tells her about an adventure Caspian had with pots and pans in the middle of the night when he was determined to have an apple tart. Caspian tells her of how he soundly defeated Suncloud in a shooting tournament. Mira tells them about Leila's new red pitcher with the daisies and her love of broken things no one else would want.

She thinks of herself when she explains it to them as best she can, wonders if Leila always stood by her because she used to be broken too, and Leila always found imperfect things to be her favorite.

She sleeps curled against Caspian's side when he and Suncloud get tired. Mira can't remember the last time she slept through the whole night, but she does it this time.

By the time they reach Cair Paravel a week and a half later, it's become a normal, every night kind of thing – sleeping next to Caspian and sleeping through the night. Mira wonders if the two are related. After her first night in her own chambers she decides they are.

She sneaks into Caspian's room a few hours before dawn, and she never sleeps on her own again.

* * *

When she's been at the Cair for three weeks, Caspian asks her to walk with him after a private dinner in the gardens.

Mira wanders with him through a walkway of rose-covered trellises and past a fountain twice as tall as her. He talks more than usual, pointing out flower after flower and asking her whether the new statue he's planning to add to the maze of tulips should be of a faun, a minotaur, or of Aslan. Aslan, of course, and she tells him so.

He finds more things to chatter about, and Mira begins to wonder if something's the matter. Tonight he seems nervous about something, but she can't figure out what there is to be nervous about. She's heard of no threats to Narnia, no unrest, no ill omens from the heavens. What could be wrong?

Caspian finally falls silent when they find a stone bench hidden against the garden wall, but his hand is cool in hers. He kisses her knuckles as he helps her sit down; his nerves seem to vanish all of a sudden when he seats himself beside her and takes her other hand.

"I've wanted to tell you something for a long time," he begins.

Mira tips her head slightly to the side, confused. Caspian clears his throat softly.

"I can't wait any longer. Mira, I love you. I've been in love with you ever since I thought I would lose you."

Words that would have frightened her and sent her into a tailspin of panic a year ago now bring a slow smile to her mouth. Mira sits perfectly still, relishing in the warmth that's returned to his hands. She wets her lips, her heart doing little jumps in her chest.

"I think…well, I love you too," Mira admits in a whisper. "I don't know how long, but now that you've said it I know it's been a little while for me too."

Caspian's smile sweeps across his face, and then he's pulling her close and pressing his lips against hers again and again, much more than he's ever kissed her before. Even early morning kisses when he gets up and goodnight kisses before they fall asleep were never like this – almost frantic, fueled by need and a long time of waiting and holding back.

Mira finds that she's not afraid to keep going that night, to let him touch her and whisper tender promises into her ear.

* * *

Within three months, he asks her to marry him. Mira turns him down, saying she's too young and she hasn't even been back with him a year and how can he know for sure about the rest of their lives so soon? He understands and kisses her nose.

He asks again when she's been back a year. Again she says no, this time because she's been learning more and more about the responsibilities of a king – and his wife – for months now and she's terrified of not being good enough. She's only a girl, she tells him, not a queen. He kisses her forehead and tells her it's okay.

The third time he asks, it's been two years and Mira finally knows what she wants. He tells her he'll help her if she doesn't know what to do, that she's never been just a girl and he knows she would be a queen the people would adore. He also tells her that if she still doesn't want to not to worry, that he knows it's a lot to ask and he won't blame her if she's still opposed to the idea.

She silences him with a kiss and tells him yes when she pulls back.

They're married by the end of the month.

* * *

Mira wasn't really one to think of happily ever afters. But after three years of marriage and with a bump on her abdomen that grows every day, she's starting to wonder if perhaps they might exist. She and Caspian don't always agree – she only just came around to the idea of children – and she still has nightmares and bad days where she almost forgets the happy Leila that Aslan showed her, but she always feels safe and he always loves her no matter what she does.

She doesn't want to call it a happily ever after because it's something beyond that. It's a kind of Eden, something almost too good to be true that she thanks Aslan for every day. She still wonders if it has an expiration date, but as of yet it hasn't come. She's truly starting to believe it won't.

Years it took her, and looking back at all it took to get here, Mira decides it was worth it as she stares into the setting sun from the window in her and Caspian's chambers. She wouldn't trade this for anything, and she even believes Leila has found her own happiness too.

Her own little Eden.

THE END

* * *

**Whew, it feels great to have another story done! Do drop by and leave a review if you have a sec :)**


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